


Ordained

by Tenoko1



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Alternate Universe- Raised by Mary, Angst, Charlie is adopted, Demons, Double Lives, Family Bond, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Men of Letters, Monsters, Multi, Podfic Available, Podfic Length: 4.5-5 Hours, Romance, Secret Identity, Supernatural exists, fanart available, magical girl, think Buffy, to be rewritten, women are heaven's warriors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2014-11-28
Packaged: 2018-02-27 08:10:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 46,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2685527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tenoko1/pseuds/Tenoko1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s one born to every generation. Joan of Arc was the first Ordained. The first of the archangel Michael's Chosen bloodline to protect humanity from Hell and monsters during a time when Earth faced unprecedented threat. Fast forward to present. Dean is the current Ordained, complete with costume change and masked allies. Mostly? They're like regular supernatural hunters who spend their nights going after whatever tries to munch on the student populace, and occasionally taking on petty crime to help out the cops. Okay, so maybe juggling double-lives, college, and romance is easier on TV, by a lot, but Dean's determined to have some semblance of a normal life while they can. </p><p>Then demons and angels start showing up and it’s up to the masked warriors to stop Hell from literally being unleashed on Earth. This was NOT part of the plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _Major thanks_ to my betas, oppisum, meatball42, and moonlightpetal. I'd take you out to dinner if I could.
> 
>  **Warnings:** (brief) discussion about- and desire for- suicide.
> 
>  **Special thanks to:** Shrek 2 OST- you were with me throughout the different parts of writing this project, including the henpecked outline, the frustration, headdesking, copious amounts of coffee, and various fic drafts.
> 
>  **Note:** Castiel’s human last name is a nod to one of my favorite Destiel fics/podfics “Metaphysical Gravity”. Also, if you would like to have an idea of what Hunter looks like? Google Amber Heard in Drive Angry.
> 
>  

 

 

            Carrying the laden down boxes was one thing. Even carrying the laden down boxes through all the other people in a crowded hallway, everyone with their arms full and yelling over each other and down the corridor wasn’t any monumental task. It was college: chaotic and busy, and, hell, Dean had been looking forward to this for weeks, truth be told. They all had. He could navigate the river of people and belongings, even with his arms full and Sam following closely behind him with his own boxes to haul.

            But if the _Hobbit_ wall scroll sticking out of Charlie’s stuff hit him in the side of the head one more time before he got it to the red head’s new room, then it was not going to make the epic journey in one piece.

            Decidedly keeping the _Hobbit_ journey pun to himself, Dean grunted and shifted the box full of collectibles in his arms again, trying to resettle it while scowling at the back of Charlie’s head. She lead their procession through all the noisy people to what was her assigned room, key card already in hand as she read off room numbers. Her comforter and sheets were tucked under one arm, while she dragged her suitcase behind her with the other.

            He was debating if it wouldn’t just make more sense for the three of them to get an apartment, both financially and from a hunting stand point, when they made it to her room. He discarded the notion as she let them all in, then held the door open and directed them to put her stuff on the bed by the far wall. Setting down his burden, Dean took a step back to consider it, watching as Sam set down a second box bigger than the first. He knew for a fact all of Charlie’s clothes were crammed into her suitcase and duffel bag.

            “You have more collectibles than clothes,” he felt the need to point out.

It seemed valid enough to bring up, but to what end, he wasn’t entirely sure. Both he and Sam had a single duffel bag of clothes and a large box each of their own stuff, filled with things like bedding, books, movies, and Sam’s kit for the care and keeping of his throwing knives. Charlie just seemed to have brought more _stuff_. It seemed unnecessary, and it was one more thing niggling him with worry now that they were actually there.

He _was_ excited; they had planned extensively for this, but the reality of it actually happening now had him mentally combing over every aspect of this move looking for some flaw in their preparation.

            He watched as Sam handed over the unusually shaped case he’d been carrying on his shoulder with her duffel. The duffel was tossed on the end of her bed out of the way, while the case holding her quiver, bow, and various knives was tucked away under her bed.

            “Like you are any less of a nerd than I am, Dean Winchester,” she huffed, straightening and dusting off her hands to survey her new domain. “I just brought _my_ collectibles with me.”

            The tallest of the three was frowning at the items now hidden under her bed. “Are you sure it’s such a good idea to have brought all of that with you?” Hazel eyes shifted to their adopted sister, clearly worrying the thought in his head. “I mean, what with having a roommate and trying to keep things a secret- you may not actually need them.”

            She folded her arms. “Of course, I will need them. A need for our family’s particular calling is why we decided on this school. Monster hot zone, remember?”

            “I don’t know,” Dean hedged, though he hated to. He’d never have thought getting out of their comfort zone would unnerve him this much. “How are you gonna explain the clothes changing or carrying your bow and-” He sighed, shaking his head. Maybe they really should have opted for that apartment instead. “Having a roommate complicates things. Puts us at risk. Maybe we should-“

            Rolling her eyes, Charlie waved him off. “We’ve already been through this and planned _everything_. Don’t balk the first day here. I haven’t even unpacked! Your stuff’s not even in your room yet! And before you rationalize why I need to be benched because of my roommate, let me remind you that I am a member of this family, and that means doing what our family does: saving people, hunting things.”

            Opening his mouth, probably to put to use the arguing skills all pre-law students were required to have, Sam was interrupted when someone opened the door and they all turned to look. The girl at the door had a messenger bag on her shoulder and box in her arms. She blinked in surprise at the three people already in the room.

            “Oh.” Her eyes found Charlie’s as she moved further into the room and set the box down on what would be her desk. She glanced at all three of them, before waving uncertainly at the redhead. “Uh, hi. I’m your new roommate, Gilda. I’ll be studying to be a horticulturist.”

            Sighing dreamily, Charlie smiled. “I am so glad we moved away to college.” She stepped forward, offering her hand to the other girl, which she took. “I’m Charlie. I’m going to revolutionize the videogame industry.” The whisp thin girl in pink grinned at that, and as their hands fell away, Charlie motioned to the pair still in the room. “These are my brothers Dean and Sam. Who were _just_ _leaving_ ,” she said, turning to flash them both a smile. The angle hid the way her eyes narrowed in threat.

            They both rolled their eyes and bit back smiles. Dean reached for her in good-bye first, grabbing the back of her head to place a kiss to her forehead.

            Stepping away and toward the door, he told Gilda, “She’s adopted. Forgive any and all weirdness.” She giggled when he winked playfully, and then watched as Sam ruffled their sister’s hair.

            When the door shut behind them and they began making their way back down the hall, Sam stuffed his hands into the pocket of his hoodie asking, “How long before Charlie _really_ starts flirting?”

            “Oh dude,” exclaimed the blond with a snort. “Five minutes. If that girl had looked any more like a fairy princess, she’d have been wearing glitter.”

It was easier to navigate through all the people now that their hands were empty. They still had to find their room on the first floor and unlock it so they could haul in all of their things before daylight bled away. Getting on the road and leaving home for good that morning had taken longer than they planned for, and despite their excitement, had been harder than expected.

            There was a lot of planning typically involved in moving away to college, but for their family it had been doubly so, what with comparing desired course studies, college location, plus the supernatural activity in that area, followed by cross-referencing to see if the area had been claimed by any other hunters- _monster_ hunters, that was- in the business, yet not working with the Men of Letters. Then there was the ordeal of getting the college approved by both the Men of Letters and their mother. Mary wanted them close enough back-up could be sent should her children get into a fix they couldn’t handle alone.

            Their mother had argued against this college and town, relatively small though they both were. It was flagged as a hot zone for monster activity with no explanation the MoL could make sense of other than it just was- like any number of natural hot beds across the world. Like Lawrence, Kansas had been before Mary moved in and made it her territory.

            It was those reasons that made the Letters particularly interested in the town, the Board all casting their vote toward it. While it was Dean’s decision where they went, they had been none too subtly reminded that The Men of Letters was an old and powerful organization specializing solely in the study and documentation of every aspect of the supernatural world in order to help hunters fight the monsters and protect humanity. They were a very powerful ally and resource. Invaluable even. If a person or group wanted their backing and support, which could include incentives such as three full-ride scholarships… well then, you jumped when they said jump. And would then subsequently fill out paperwork about it.

            Even once the area and college had been approved, there was still hacking into the school’s systems to be done so that all three of their schedules were time synchronized as best as they could be, so that classes didn’t interfere with training or patrolling as a team and they were able to keep much the same routines as they always had.

            On the ground floor and across the hall from their room, was a guy struggling to manage the move on his own, half-obscured by the boxes he was failing to keep stable as he attempted to open the door to his dorm room. Dean shot forward just as the top box began to slide. The guy tried to compensate by bending at the knees, but only dislodged the bag on his shoulder, causing all of it to begin falling to the floor.

            “Whoa!” Dean exclaimed, moving too late to stop the fumble. He knelt and grabbed one of the boxes. “Here, let me help,” he offered.

The poor guy reached for the same one, their hands tangling and making them both look up in surprise.

            The smile on Dean’s face faded in an instant, melting into slack-jawed awe as his gaze locked with the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. Box-guy was gorgeous and, somehow, androgynous, what with hair that was thoroughly messy and _completely_ hot, plus Disney-patented blue eyes, seemingly handcrafted features, and the faint stubble adding a bit of scruff to the whole look that was just- _unf_.

            Behind him, Sam coughed lightly, jolting Dean back to reality and ending the staring both he and the other guy had been doing.

Blue Eyes flushed and apologized, “I’m sorry. I wrongfully believed I could manage the simple task of moving my own…” His words trailed off as a grin stretched across the blond’s features and he was struck dumb all over again.

Dean was grinning not only at the other guy’s unusual choice of words, but the gravelly way they were said.

“Lucky for you, I’m here to lend a hand.”

Utterly forgotten, Sam smirked in amusement and shook his head, stepping in to open the door for them.

Clearing his throat and trying to recompose himself, the dark haired man rose with the heavier box in his hands, before ducking into his small single room.

He sat down the box on the stripped bed, letting the bag slide from his shoulder to land beside it, before turning to watch the man who had come to his aid.

“Thank you for your assistance,” he said, once Dean had set the other box down.

And oh yeah, that voice was something Dean was growing fonder of by the syllable.

He offered out his hand to the other man. “I’m Dean. Dean Winchester.”

Blue-Eyes slipped his hand into Dean’s, grip solid and slightly calloused. “Castiel.” He faltered, tongue darting out across his bottom lip. “Castiel, uh, Collins.”

            Their hands reluctantly fell apart, Dean nodding to the door. “This is my little brother Sam.” When they nodded to each other, Dean indicated the door to their room right across the hall. “And that’s our room in case you ever need more than two hands again,” he said, flashing a grin and removing himself from the room before Sam had to drag him away.

            His brain was helpfully pointing out that what he’d meant as an innocent offer to help had come out sounding a lot more suggestive instead. Sam clearly caught it, because he was shaking his head and trying not to laugh at his brother’s expense. Meanwhile, Dean cast a worried glance at Castiel to gauge his reaction and apologize if need be.

            Castiel inclined his head, smiling faintly. “In that case, thank you again, though this is all of my things.”

            Throwing him a wink, Dean clapped his brother on the shoulder. “C’mon, Sammy. We have our own stuff to unpack.”

            The taller of the two sighed in exasperation. “That comes after we actually unload the car. And say what you want about Charlie’s stuff, but you brought plenty of your own,” Sam insisted as they passed through the double-doors and out into the waning sunlight.

            Sucking in a deep breath, Dean couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his features. His dream was happening. They were venturing out and claiming their own territory as a team. They would fight monsters, and maybe even some crime, but they would be able to have normal lives and pursuits as well- for as long as they were allowed it at least. Eventually, they had roles they would have to step into, positions to take over, and responsibilities to accept, but for now… for now they could pretend to be normal, or relatively normal, at least, as free as any of them would ever be, for as long as life allowed it.

            Even while somewhat intimidating, moving would be their start to something great.

 

\---

 

            The sun had fully set by the time they made it to the vast park beside the college, Sam with an actual map of the area and studying it like a lost tourist as they strode across the grounds familiarizing themselves with their new home.

            Dean, on the other hand, was casually walking along, hands in the pockets of his jacket as he studied the area directly beside the college. “Oh yeah. I can already tell we are gonna spend a _lot_ of time here and in those woods,” he said, indicating the forest that spread out far and wide behind the university. Using a map, if they placed a pin on the school as the center of what would be theirs to look after and protect, easily a third of it was forest.

            The lid to a marker in his mouth, Sam grunted, nodding as he drew circles and X’s on the paper.

            Clicking his tongue, Dean pivoted, surveying the receding college as he walked backward.

            “Granted, we knew this place was a monster hot zone when we decided to move away from home and both the Campbell’s and Mom’s territories, but I wonder how bad it will actually be.” The Men of Letters database entry hadn’t explained more than that the town was an unassigned location with high supernatural activity of indeterminate cause, to exercise extreme caution while in the area. Spinning on his heel, Dean gave his brother a side-long glance. “And we double-checked this area isn’t claimed by non-MOL hunters, right?”

            Not all hunters were willing to fall into line under the Men of Letters protocol and procedure, separating the two groups by an unspoken ‘them and us’ mentality, both sides seeming to resent the other. The last thing Dean wanted was to get into a turf war with some backwoods hunter more concerned about his territory and dominance than he was about protecting the people that lived there.

            Sam’s face was pensive and distracted as he spoke. “Monster infested, hunter free. We triple-checked both the Men of Letters and hunter networks.” His lips were pursed, gaze distant and unfocused. Knowing the look, Dean folded his arms and waited. Eventually his brother sighed and shook his head. “As the eldest, and therefore next Ordained descendant of Mom’s line, you’re _supposed_ to go out and find your own territory, but how do we know if you found the _right_ one?”

            “Mom said it just feels right. That that was how she knew to stay in Lawrence.”

            His brother regarded him seriously. “Okay. How does it feel? We can move if-“

            The elder of the two held up a hand. “Dude, no. We just got here and went through too much paperwork and red tape just to get the Men of Letters to sign off on the very town _they_ voted for. It’s fine.”

            “But does it feel _right_?”

            Exasperated, Dean threw up his hands, looking around as if expecting a sign telling him the answer. “I don’t know? I guess? It doesn’t feel wrong, and I’m much better attuned to sensing when things are _wrong_ rather than right.” He shrugged. “And it checks all my boxes: monsters, unclaimed, and more than a few hot students.”

            Sam had no idea how, as the middle child, he was the most reasonable and focused one of the lot. Wasn’t it supposed to be Dean?

            “Yes, Dean, because as the first born to this generation of our family, the one born with the Mark and blessed by the archangel Michael-“

            “Oh geez, here we go. Stop, really.”

            “-cute students and easy hook-ups are what _really_ matter.”

            “God, our family sounds pretentious,” Dean muttered in distaste, kicking idly at the ground. “And, I never said I was looking for easy,” he added, before glaring at his brother. “Also don’t give me that spiel about duty, honor, and destiny. Grandpa Henry made sure I got the point drilled into my head growing up.” They both glowered at each other until Dean’s face split into a grin and he swatted gamely at his brother’s arm. “C’mon, man, you can’t say you aren’t excited to meet new people, though.”

            Chuckling, Sam gave him a playful shove. “Just hang a sock on the door or something.”

            The sound of running made them both turn, regarding Charlie as she came chasing after them.

            “Seriously?” she demanded before even catching up. “First patrol and you left me behind?”

            “What are you doing coming out here on your own?” Dean asked with a scowl. “We’re blind as to what’s out here, Charlie.”

            Without looking up from where she was doubled-over trying to catch her breath, Charlie had the tip of a blade that had been hidden in her sleeve to his throat in an instant, making Sam bite back a smirk, and Dean fall still and silent.

            A blink and then the blade was gone again, tucked back away as the red head straightened and sucked in a deep breath. “Don’t be melodramatic. Not every student out after dark runs into trouble. We aren’t even out of the park, plus I _am_ armed. Like always. You left _without_ me! Dude, do _not_ make me call Mom.”

            Shaking his head, Sam raised his palms to their sister. “Relax, Charlie. This isn’t a proper patrol, we were just antsy after unpacking and decided to go for a walk to get a visual of the areas right around the college is all. The real work starts tomorrow.”

            Lips pursed, Dean let his gaze drift around the park. “Not that there’s much we can see right now.” He hooked his thumb back toward the college. “C’mon. Let’s go check out where all the businesses and stuff are. We’ll scope out the- probably cursed- forest when there’s proper lighting.”

            They all pivoted, backtracking the way they’d come. Sam leaned to peer around his brother.

            “Speaking of, Charlie: what do you think about our contacting local PD about a group of LARPers that have regular events and stuff around town?” They both considered him, brows raised. “That way if people happen to see us in costume and call the cops, they already know to disregard it.”

            “That’s actually not a bad idea,” conceded Dean, Charlie nodding before she added, “That should work and help a lot actually. I got a call from Josie earlier, and she said that while the Sheriff is in the know and will help with cover-up, she’s not in the business; that the MoL has stationed a contact for us here. A guy named Garth who was a regular hunter before he took an arrow to the knee. No, seriously. Crossbow misfire or something. Uncle Bobby told Mom, Mom got him in contact with Grandpa Henry, and now he works for the Letters. He’ll be our contact and main cover person with local PD.”

            The blond shook his head. “This is all happening so much easier than I expected.”

            Nodding her agreement, Charlie wiggled her fingers out in front of her. “It’s like the _Men In Black_ of the real world: all memory wipes, cover-ups, and special agents, the whole nine.” She spun to walk backward and regard them. “How is your room, btw’s? It’s near an exit and has a window we can sneak out of, need be.”

            Sam waved her off. “I really don’t think we’re gonna have anything to worry about. What’s the situation with _your_ roommate, because I may be sleeping on the floor in your room a lot,” he questioned as they passed from grass to sidewalks, before hooking a thumb at Dean. “He’s commented on that front desk girl, Lisa, and even Professor Barnes, and then the guy in the single across the hall totally knocked him speechless. I’ve _never_ seen Dean unable to break out some quick one-liner before.”

            Mock gasping, Charlie raised thin fingers to her lips. She grinned widely as her brother blushed and waved her off.

            “Yeah, yeah,” he snapped gruffly, “bluest eyes to ever blue. I’m more worried about you having an actual roommate, though she seems nice.”

            To which, the next thirty minutes of their walk was filled with Charlie waxing poetic about the fairy princess/artist/dancer/and horticulturist she was rooming with, and how utterly amazing their children would be once Charlie asked her out and they eventually married.

            Sam snorted. “You can’t marry someone you just _met_ , Charlie.”

            She cut him a flat look, head rolling around to regard him. “Not to quote _Frozen_ , but you can if it’s true love,” she said, before bumping her shoulder against Dean’s with a wink and a grin.

 

\---

 

            Getting settled and use to a sudden life change is always easier if you apply old habits to it, which turned out to not be as hard as they thought it would be. They created a new routine, one that allowed them to train and have morning workouts together, same as they had since Charlie’s became a part of their family.

            Tiny though the red head may have been at her adoption, she had demanded to learn alongside Dean and Sam how to fight the monsters that had killed her original family; that if her new brothers were learning, then so would she.

            Their morning jogs helped them keep in shape and to better learn the town that was now theirs to protect. Their main route took them around campus, past the park and to the large bridge crossing the river out of what was considered their town. They went from there in a half circle until their feet brought them back to the school.

            The town was small and broken up into distinct districts. There was the college; everything behind it: West-Northwest to East was dense forest for miles. Then, on their side of the river to the West were a few small residential neighborhoods, plus the police and fire stations. South of the college was the entertainment district where the restaurants, theatre, and nightclub were, all in former warehouses that had been renovated and remodeled. And then to the east, were stores convenient to students, blocks of brick buildings with either balconies or awnings, making everything quaint and peaceful-looking, deceptively so. There was a single coffee shop near the campus, and a 24-hour diner. There was an old white church on a hill, built in the time before central air-conditioning on one of the town’s original roads. There was also a cemetery, which was massive and sprawling, with monuments, statues, and various family mausoleums all closed in with a low, black-iron fence.

            Some days, though, they just ran the paths and trails all through the woods and park behind the college, keeping an eye on the activity going on there as much as the rest of the town. That particular morning, the fog off the river was heavy. The mist that had fallen all through the night still hadn’t stopped or turned into a proper rain.

            The three of them were thoroughly damp and cold with rain and sweat as they made it back to the boys’ dorm room, their squishing shoes faltering at the sight of Castiel sitting against the wall outside his room, arms across his knees and head back, face toward the ceiling.

            “What’s wrong?” Dean questioned, green eyes flicking to the door and back.

            From his position, Castiel jerked violently in surprise, eyes flying open and head snapping to regard the man that had spoken. Sam frowned with a suppressed shiver. They shouldn't have been able to sneak up on him, they were practically squelching their way down the hall. Unless he’d been caught off guard because of all the people that had passed him, _they_ were the first to inquire.

            “I didn’t mean to scare you,” the eldest apologized as the other man hurried to his feet, shaking his head.

            “No. I just wasn’t expecting you.”

            Sam eyed the door. “Problem?” His eyes flicked to Charlie as her teeth started to chatter.

            Releasing a snort of annoyance, the shorter man scowled over his shoulder at the door. “I am not use to having to worry with key cards and such, and unfortunately locked myself out. I asked for help thirty minutes ago…”

            His voice trailed off as all three of them made “ah” sounds. Sam clapped Dean on the shoulder before turning to go in their room, while the blond held out his hand to the woman bedside him and she wordlessly pulled two bobby pins from her wet hair and surrendered them.

            Dropping to kneel in front of the door, Dean jerked his head toward Charlie as he began working on the original key lock from before it had gone electronic. “Castiel, this is my sister, by the way. Charlie, this is Castiel.”

            They shook in greeting, hands falling away just as Sam ducked back out the door and handed off a movie to the red head. Castiel was regarding Dean’s hands as the blond worked.

            “Do you know-“

            The blond made a triumphant noise and opened the door, pushing it inward while distractedly waving to Charlie as he pushed to his feet and she hurried off to a hot shower and a change of clothes.

            “And you’re in,” he said, pocketing the bobby pins.

            “Impressive,” praised Castiel, their eyes meeting. Licking his lips, he ventured, “I wished to thank you again for your earlier assistance as well, but being that you are rarely alone, it made it… difficult to approach you.”

            There he went again with the odd formality of speech, standing in clothes that while comfortable, looked too new and unbroken-in, carefully unassuming. Like he was putting a lot of effort into trying to fit in.

            Dean arched a brow at the other man. “You’re not so great with social skills, are you?” He almost felt bad for calling him out on it, but despite his apparent effort, he rather stood out like a beacon. To Dean, at least.

            Blinking rapidly, the other man dropped his gaze, tongue darting out across his mouth. “Ah, no. I’ve been… far removed for a while,” he admitted finally and without embarrassment, his word choice making Dean think of monasteries and Sheppard Book from _Firefly_. Castiel lifted his head, but didn’t meet Dean’s eye, instead gestured to their surroundings. “I had to fight to be allowed to come here, and now that I am…. It has been a new, albeit, a bit overwhelming task.” He huffed a small embarrassed laugh, before focusing his gaze on the toes of his shoes.

            A smile tugged its way onto the corner of Dean’s mouth, the blond feeling warmth and affection spread through him as he regarded his neighbor. He wanted to keep him and corrupt him, to learn what it was that made him so different and intriguing to Dean.

            Sam came back out of their room with a change of clothes and a toiletry bag tucked under his arm then, shooting a pointed glance at Dean to remind him of the time and classes. When the brunette’s gaze met Castiel’s, the two exchanged polite smiles and nods.

            “Hey, look,” began Dean, “I desperately need a shower and have a class to get ready for, but the best cure for rusty social skills is being social,” he insisted, backing toward his own room. “How about I come find you this evening and we go for burgers? We can hang out.”

            Castiel looked at him in surprise. A shy grin spread across his features, looking very pleased by the sudden invitation.

            “I’d really like that,” he said, voice warm and sincere.

            Dean grinned widely. “Awesome. See you later, Cas. Lemme know if you get locked out again.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has made fanart for this fic.

Chapter Two

 

            True to his word, after classes for the day were over Dean went and knocked on their neighbor’s door, grinning when it swung inward and Castiel was standing there.

            “Hungry?” The other man nodded with a smile. “Good, because I am starved. Don’t forget your key to get back in,” he reminded him with a teasing grin as the other man moved to step out into the hallway.

            It was awkward as they made their way from campus. Castiel fairly quiet, and somewhat discomfited looking, forcing Dean to carry most of the conversation until the shorter of the two began to relax. He stopped picking at the hem of his hoodie sleeve and glancing quickly around like he was anticipating some sort of trap. Dean idly wondered if Cas knew anybody else at all besides the Winchesters.

            Cas wore the same comfortable, but not broken-in look as earlier, a grey v-neck and burgundy hoodie jacket with dark jeans. There weren’t even logos on any of the clothing, making Dean think it had to be intentional. The strategically inconspicuous clothing was odd, and went well with Cas’ awkward behavior and stiff way of speaking. All of him seemed to be trying to fit in, yet not quite managing.

            Dean took him to the diner near campus that was open all night and had a certain _Happy Days_ feel to it, the two of them sliding into opposite sides of a garish red booth. The waitress scurried over to take their orders almost as soon as they did, and Dean had to bite back a laugh at her failed attempts to flirt with an oblivious Castiel. When she was gone and they had their food, they talked about school and what they were studying: Dean aiming for a degree in mechanical engineering, while Castiel was studying the culinary arts, specializing in baking.

            “Dude, for a lifetime supply of homemade pie, I will propose _right now_ ,” the blond declared, making the man across the booth snort a surprised laugh, before ducking his head to hide his amusement. Like laughter wasn’t something he was allowed. In that instant, Dean wanted to make him laugh until he cried.

            To be honest, Dean did a fair amount of the talking, but it was easy and effortless, their conversation shifting between frivolous things like books and movies- and Castiel’s complete LACK of pop culture knowledge- to Cas explaining how he came from a family background that was both highly religious and militaristic; that the fight to attend college had been with his _family_ rather than ability.

            Dean told him about how he was the oldest of three and that they’d mostly been raised by their widowed mother. He confessed that while Charlie was adopted, there had never been a moment where it didn’t feel like they’d all been born a family.

            They talked until dark, food gone and bills paid, continuing back and forth until Dean’s phone started blowing up with text message alerts, making him frown at the onslaught of notification noises, and dig his phone out with an apology.

            -

_**Sam** : Where are you? Patrol._

_-_

_**Charlie** : If you are blowing us off for sex with Blue Eyes- well, good job on that, actually, but Sammy’s about to blow a gasket with impatience._

_-_

_**Sam** : This is serious, Dean. You can slack off the moment we get here._

_**Sam** : Can’t*. You CAN’T slack off the moment we get here. We had a plan. Also, we have a monster to hunt. Lives at stake. FLIRT LATER._

_-_

_**Charlie** : Ignore whatever speech Sam is giving you. He really just wants to see what your new costume looks like. Me, too. Hurry up, Winchester._

 

            Dean swore, making Castiel blink in surprise. His brows lifted in silent question as the other man hurriedly slid out of his seat and stood.

            “God, man, I hate to do this to you, but I gotta run. I was supposed to be somewhere and now I’m already late.”

            Frowning, Castiel shook his head. “No, I did not mean to keep you.” His head angled. “Girlfriend?”

            Snorting, Dean clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Hardly. Sibling bonding time. We’re very co-dependent.”

            Nodding gravely, Cas waved a hand toward the door. “Then I certainly won’t keep you,” he said, before his demeanor softened and he smiled up at Dean, making the blond’s heart skip a beat. “Thank you for the outing.”

 

            --

 

            By the time Dean made it to the woods where Sam and their sister were waiting, he was winded and determined to never run in these boots again. He was contemplating burning them because of all the horrible ‘knives and needles’ sensations that were currently stabbing his feet- after only a mile.

            They both turned as he reached them, making him frown and gesture vaguely at the pair.

            “You blow up my phone to get me here and neither of you are even in costume.”

            They both pulled their masks out and slipped them on, foregoing the usual black eye makeup, then gestured to their dark ensemble clothing.

            “Falcon and Night Fox reporting for duty,” Charlie saluted.

            Beside her, Falcon shrugged. “I think it would be best to work our way up to full costume until the local authorities completely ignore any calls that might come in about LARPers in the park or around town.” Dean arched a brow skeptically, and Falcon lifted the hem of his hoodie to reveal the dark utility belt underneath. “And it’s not like we aren’t prepared,” he said with an incline of his head to where Night Fox’s bow and quiver were situated against the trunk of a tree.

            Impatient, their sister wiggled her fingers toward Dean’s chest. “C’mon. Hurry up and transform. I wanna see what’s changed now that you’ve struck out and found your own territory.”

            Sighing, Dean lifted his hand to place over the black mark hidden beneath his shirt on his chest- the five-pointed star in a circle of flame that marked him as one of the Chosen, as the first born of his generation and the newest Ordained. He willed the transformation, sparking a flare of magic and air that shot up from the ground at his feet, leaves around them rustling. It was gone in an instant, and Hunter’s clothes and hair resettled- completely new.

            He purposefully didn’t look down yet, bracing himself for their reactions. The transformed appearance wasn’t anything the Ordained had the slightest bit of control over, was different from person to person, and changed as the Ordained did, either with certain age landmarks, or occasionally, if the warrior witnessed or survived something so traumatic it changed them forever.

            The line chosen by the archangel Michael always had to transform in order to access their abilities, it was standard. In an instant, he became Heaven’s warrior, granting him increased strength and durability, plus a weapon that appeared in hand at his calling.

            Heaven’s chosen warrior was also a _woman_ on the battlefield, regardless of what sex they were born. In the instant his clothing melted away into his costume, so did one form bleed into the other. It was why Falcon and Night Fox wore masks, and Hunter didn’t. Genderswapping was a pretty solid way to protect his identity, after all.

            He didn’t even let his hands touch his sides, holding his arms slightly away from his body as he waited for their reaction.

            “Well?” he asked. If it was bad, it was somehow easier having them break the news than just seeing it for himself.

            Night Fox gestured at his torso. “It almost looks like normal clothes, kinda.”

            “Or like normal clothes were used to make a costume,” Falcon interjected, gaze playing over his brother. A breeze rustled through the trees around them and Hunter took stock of where he could feel it on exposed skin, his thighs, upper arms, and fingers. “Far less frills and ribbons than in the past.”

            The blond let his head fall back, a huff of relief leaving his body.

            “Except for in the back,” Fox corrected, circling him. He felt her grab something at the small of his back. “You’ve still got the bow in back. And a little lace attached to the edge of your skirt-thing. Not a full skirt. It’s open in the front and you’re wearing shorts. The skirt is attached to your belt or something, with the usual big bow in the back. It’s green.”

            “What are my other colors,” he asked, watching Falcon’s reaction most closely. The other male hadn’t winced, which made him feel so much better, but he was still regarding Hunter with clinical interest, which worried the blond he was trying to mentally work through some problem the costume presented. “Are there any hazards or stark colors that can give us away?”

            The taller of the two waved him off, both he and Night Fox stepping back to give him room. “No. You’re fine. Not stark white like Mom’s for sure. A lot more earthy tones, and it really does kinda look like it was made out of normal clothes. It’s just different from your previous ones-“

            “By which, he means less frilly,” the red head assured him, trying to catch her brother’s gaze. “Seriously, Dean, breathe. It isn’t bad. I think it looks cool. Your hair is different, too.”

            His hand went to his head first, feeling for the back of it, and his fingers sunk into the unbound strands. He pulled a handful of hair around, regarding the strands and letting them slip through his fingers to gauge the length. It fell past his shoulders, for the first time in all the years he’d been fighting on the field, completely loose.

            “That is a very weird sensation,” he admitted, fingers in his hair to rub at his scalp. As a child, he’d had ringlets and pigtails, then a high ponytail, and finally a low one. His hair had never been loose before, and as a guy, he kept it pretty short around the sides.

            “It looks good,” Night Fox promised. “Stylishly messy, a little windblown. It’s hot.”

            “You still don’t think ‘badass warrior not to be taken lightly', though, do you?” he questioned, taking a deep breath before finally looking down to regard himself.

            “No,” she admitted. “Not really. Maybe if you were armed?”

            His open palms were what he saw first, the brown leather covering his forearms and part of his fingerless gloves. He was wearing a green plaid shirt over a black one, and the green plaid tied in a knot over his heart. A gold, horned amulet hung from a cord around his neck and rested against the black of his shirt. He flexed and stretched his arms a few times to test if the shirts pulled tight anywhere.

            His shorts were black and partially exposed beneath a faded denim half skirt trimmed in lace, just like they’d said, and he had on leather boots made of straps and ties that protected his legs to just above his knees, which he was grateful for.

            His costume from age fourteen to sixteen had exposed his knees. It had been a guarantee that they would always end up bloody, even if no other part of him was. He pivoted, watching as the tails of his bow snagged and snapped on the breeze. Nodding, he looked back at his siblings, feeling wildly relieved.

            “You’re right. It’s not bad. At all.”

            Not nearly as bad as some other Ordained outfits had turned out, and it didn’t hinder his ability to blend like the bright white of his mother’s costume did. He wiggled his feet in his new boots and did a few heel lifts to get a feel for them.

            Nodding his acceptance, he heaved a sigh. “I still feel like an anime magical girl.” His anger on the subject had waned over the years to the point it was merely grudging acceptance of the inevitable. “The first of our line were actually dressed for battle. Even Mom looks like some kind of angel warrior. Why do _my_ outfits all end up like this?”

            Falcon rolled his eyes. “Hunter, I’m pretty sure Joan of Arc showing up dressed in armor and leading an army _was_ considered bizarre in her day. And if you showed up in armor in this day and age, then you _would_ look ridiculous. The point remains to catch enemies off guard in a way specific to your particular form of strategy. Your enemies underestimate you, then have to re-evaluate, which gives you a strategic advantage. Mom deals more in crime than monsters nowadays and the underworld thinks an actual angel with smiting powers protects Lawrence, so no one even tries to start trouble.” He shrugged. “She’s revered as much as she’s feared, and her legend does a lot of her work for her now. You, Mom, and Joan all have your parts and roles.”

            “Yeah, except Joan was fighting a holy war even the Men of Letters have few details on-“ pointed out the unmasked warrior, flexing his fingers and stretching this way and that some more.

            “That’s because that was when they were being established,” interrupted the brunette.

            “-and I am in the modern century fighting vampires and muggers instead,” Hunter continued, before frowning and raking a hand through his hair again. “That is going to take getting used to. I’m a little worried about it getting in the way.”

            His sister dismissed his concern with a wave. “There are no vampires tonight,” she said, picking up her quiver of arrows and slinging it across her back. “No bodies, just missing people- mostly students.”

            Falcon checked several of his knives. “Night Fox pulled the surveillance on campus, and it looks like we have a skinwalker. Hopefully just the one.”

            They all watched as Hunter held out his hand and the handle of a two-handed sword materialized in his grip. He returned it to the ether with a thought and a slight fall of glitter.

            “Skinwalker not shape-shifter?” the blond clarified, then snorted and shook his head. “We can’t go ganking a shifter just because of an unfortunate family resemblance.”

            As they began moving deeper into the woods and toward the cave the map placed in the thick of it, Night Fox began filling him in, her tone shifting to the one she used when they were forced to do a debriefing before the MoL when a case went sideways.

            “Reported missing persons made one last appearance at work or home, but mostly on campus, only for friends to say they were acting ‘off’. It’s my opinion all evidence points to a skinwalker that wants the college life, but can’t due to the constant forced face change.”

            Snorting, Hunter shook his head, feeling his hair shift back and forth as he did so. “Monsters, man. When did we start sympathizing with some of the poor bastards?”

            Falcon commiserated. “They’re victims themselves. Victims of circumstance.”

            A victim driven mad from continually being flayed alive, from loneliness and isolation, from not even knowing what their own face looked like.

            A victim that would leave them no choice but to end to them.

 

 

 

They found their quarry at a location that looked more like an abandoned mining site than natural caves. Hunter wasn’t sure if the monster had actually been expecting regular hunters to come after it, or if its paranoia and madness had progressed that far, but there was a trap waiting for them.

            A vat of its previously discarded skins dumped on Night Fox when she accidentally triggered the booby-trap halfway into the mines. Her shriek of alarm and disgust worked better than any warning system the creature- now looking like a member of the college football team- could have had in place. From down one of the tunnels, the bulking figure of a man came rushing at them yelling a battle cry, charging at them in a mindless forward assault.

            Summoning his sword, Hunter moved forward to intercept him, just as Falcon stepped protectively in front of where their sister was frozen in place. The blond made a wide sweep of his sword, taken aback when the skin walker made no move to avoid the attack and the blade slid home through the creature’s neck. His body fell limp and slid forward over gravel due his momentum, coming to a stop at Hunter’s feet. The head had rolled off his shoulders and fallen with a damp thump, before coming to a stop a foot or two away. Hunter’s sword was still held out from the attack.

            Falcon blinked in surprise at the body, brows raised. “Well that was easy,” he admitted. “Very anti-climactic.”

            Behind them, Night Fox was still glued to the spot, looking horrified and ready to vomit with her arms half-raised and still dripping Walker skin and fluid. Both her brothers made faces of disgust as long trails of something oozed off her elbow and dripped to the floor.

            “Omigawd, omigawd,” she whined, face pinched and eyes closed. “So much need for therapy now, ohmigawd, hold me, Falcon.”

            The pressure of the contents falling on her had pushed her hood back off of her face, and he stepped over to help, picking a long strip of skin from her hair and tossing it to the side with a sneer. “You are covered in skin, fluids, and grossness, Fox. I love you, but no.”  He inverted the hood to dump out the thick fluid and lumps of flesh in it, sneering at the sounds made as they splattered to the ground.

            She turned pleading eyes to Hunter with a whimper. He pointed the tip of his sword toward the corpse. “I killed it. What else do you want?”

            She glared and moved to storm, albeit rigidly, down the mine shaft. “Worst. Brothers. Ever,” she grit through her teeth, before flailing wildly, hand reaching for her back. “Ah! Something oozing where it shouldn’t be, oh god!”

            Falcon took pity on her. “When we get back to the fields, I’ll hose you off, okay? We’ll burn that outfit and jacket, and I’ll buy you a new one.”

            With one last violent shudder, Night Fox seemed to accept her brother’s offer, and resumed walking with a heavy sigh. Her head fell back to regard the ceiling overhead. “I don’t suppose branching out made you develop any actual powers, did it, Hunter? Like, say, over water or cleanliness?”

            He shot her a sidelong glance. “You know that’s not how this gig works. My powers are a super-secret identity- because no one is gonna connect College Student Guy with some blonde chick running around in a skirt and wielding a sword- plus strength, durability, and said sword. I am basically Buffy in cosplay. My transformation is the most magical part about this.” He looked at both his siblings in question. “Did Buffy ever cosplay?”

            His brother waved off the question. “She wore a couple of Halloween costumes, but that’s it, I think. I miss your axe,” he admitted, sounding fond and reminiscent.

            The blond looked at him incredulously. “Dude. I haven’t fought with one of those since I learned to drive. Technically, despite the size and shape of the blades, I think the length of the handle classified it as a halberd, like Mom’s.”

            His brother shrugged. “I still miss it. I miss the image you made when you were a lot younger: all frills, ruffles, lace, and bows, but armed with this ornate bladed weapon bigger than you were.” He was grinning as he recalled it.

            “That was a dark time, little brother. We do not mention past frou-frou. It was not my choice. These costumes have a mind of their own and a twisted sense of irony.”

            “It was a very scary combination,” Falcon insisted, just as they made it to the dead end chamber that acted as the skin-walker’s home and lair.

            “I can only imagine how frilly _your_ outfit would be if you’d been born first and become the newest Ordained. I bet you anything pigtails would have been involved. And ribbons. So many ribbons.”

            “Yeah, well, luckily I was born second, so I dodged that particular bullet,” the taller male retorted.

            Hunter snorted. “Unless I die. Then guess who activates as the new Ordained?”

            “Not funny, dude.” Falcon shook his head. “Really not funny.”

 

 

 

 

            Inside, there were two people; alive, bound, and heavily sedated. Falcon called headquarters even as they freed the people.

            “Josie? Falcon. We took down a skinwalker, have two survivors, and are gonna need an ambulance and some memory wipes,” he told the older woman on the other end. “We’re carrying them near the park for pick up. You can’t get the ambulances this far in for a retrieval.” He faltered in lifting the dark-skinned athlete over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, before nodding and dropping a blinking locator to the dirt floor. “Understood.”

            The blue light in his ear turned off and he rose. On the other side of the room, Hunter finished picking the lock that had the young Asian girl chained to the foot of a cot. He didn’t touch her at first, just knelt in front of her, considering her with wary caution. She looked so much like that girl from the show about a women’s prison- the one Sam was _always_ watching- that he was afraid of accidentally waking her, and that she might _start_ talking and never _stop_.

            Eventually, he picked her up anyway. It was either take the risk or leave her behind. Her small body was dead weight in his arms as he pushed to his feet.

            “They should have an ambulance there as soon as we drop them off,” Falcon told him. “A clean-up crew is headed this way as well.”

            Nodding, the three of them quickly made their way back through the woods toward the park and where the trees thinned. They followed the tree line to where the park met an intersection. This location was much closer than getting back to the college would be, but even still, carrying two utterly unresponsive people that far at such a fast clip had Hunter and Falcon pouring sweat and exhausted as they reached the drop-off spot.

            The eldest of the heroes stayed with the victims just inside the protection of the trees, and watched as his partners darted like shadows across the street, along a wooden fence, and behind the only establishment for several more blocks: a gas station lit up brighter than a Christmas tree. He looked down at the GPS device flashing red on the ground. Already he could hear the distant wails of sirens.

            They’d been there less than a week and had already saved two lives. He felt himself smile, the night breeze tossing his hair and uniform. They had chosen right. This town was where they were meant to be, he could feel it, he thought, looking up just as the two shadows darted back through the trees and to his side.

            Night Fox was thoroughly drenched from head-to-toe and grinning at him broadly. He grinned back.

            “Feel better?” he asked, glancing once over his shoulder as the emergency vehicles drew closer.

            “So much,” she agreed.

            He gave a curt nod and they took off at a run through the trees and back into the thick of the woods, heading toward the college and dorms still a couple miles away. The closer they got, the more their run slowed to become a tired trudge. They could almost see the illuminated campus through the trees when the sensation of eyes on them made Hunter come to a halt. His sword appeared in his hand a moment later; eyes scanning the shadows and trees for what he could feel but couldn’t see.

            Falcon and Night Fox wordlessly moved to flank him, both with their weapons at the ready as they stood almost back-to-back waiting in the tense silence.

            The touch of another’s eyes on them was so strong it was alarming, but more disturbing to Hunter was how it tingled down to his soul with a sort of… familiarity. Like he could _feel_ their familiarity with _him_.

            And wasn’t that was all manner of unnerving.

            “Show yourself,” he barked, grip tightening on the handle of his sword. He suppressed a shiver at the soft caress of a breeze to the back of his neck and thighs. “I _know_ you’re there,” he snarled.

            Nothing from the woods around them, save for the sound of a large bird taking flight.

            The sensation slowly retreated and Hunter straightened from his ready stance, anger giving way to confusion. He concentrated, trying to sense the direction the feeling had been coming from, but got nothing and the sensation faded until they were alone again. Night Fox and Falcon both lowered their weapons as well, arrows and knives returning to their places just as Hunter’s sword disappeared from sight.

            “What just happened?” Falcon questioned lowly, eyes still scanning the darkness and shadows around them.

            Drawing a deep breath, Hunter shook his head, looking out and finding nothing. “I don’t know. It felt… someone was there.”

            “You’re sure?” their sister asked, scratching at one of the sharp points of her mask.

            He nodded. “But it was different. Stronger.”

            He’d felt it like a touch, like a familiar shape in the shadows his eyes were simply too weak to pick out. It sounded paranoid, but he was positive he wasn’t wrong, either. He strained his senses to pick up anything from the darkness around them.

            “Okay,” chirped Night Fox, jerking their attention to her as she clapped her hands together with a grin and began backing away toward the tree line, toward the lit campus growing increasingly visible. “Well. Creepy stalker aside, I would remind you I got a barrel of complete grossness dumped on me, and that I would like a scalding hot shower and a loufa. Preferably, five minutes ago.”

            Forcing his body to relent, Hunter followed after her, both Falcon and Night Fox removing their masks and tucking them away, just as Hunter placed a gloved hand over the sigil hidden under his clothing to transform. A moment later, all three of them stepped out of the woods and toward the light, looking like any other students on campus.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

 

            The next two weeks were almost chaos with activity. In addition to attending classes, homework, training, and nightly patrol of the area, they killed a vampire, a werewolf, stopped a couple of teenage carjackers looking for a joyride, plus arrested a drug dealer peddling more than ADD meds to stressed college students. They zip tied the criminals to bike racks or lamp posts before putting in a call to Garth for pickup.

            They compiled a list and report on all the supernatural students on campus, their species, classification, and threat-level assessment, before submitting them to the Men of Letters. They then wrote more reports about having settled into their new territory, giving the final sign-off that made it official theirs. On top of all that, every couple of days all three of them met in the boys’ room and crowded around Sam’s laptop to Skype with their mother, reassuring her and purposefully embarrassing each other in turn.

            Garth called to let them know that the police station had gotten its first call about people in costumes running around, and that the teenage carjackers had actually claimed they’d been wrongfully attacked and arrested by ‘freaks in masks’. Sheriff Mills, being in-the-know from her own run in with one or two monsters, happily turned a blind eye to anyone in her town looking to protect it.

            They even managed to squeeze in a little personal time. Dean had gotten a blank stare from Cas at the mention of THE biggest film release of the year finally being out in theatres, prompting him to drag the other man along with the siblings to go see it. Not that Cas had actually fought him on it, just seemed rather baffled by the whole practice of movies and the tradition of blockbuster hits.

            Dean idly wondered if, despite Cas’ claim to have a highly religious and militaristic family, if they weren’t Amish instead. Being completely removed from modern society as a whole would explain so much about his new and very odd friend, who lacked both social skills and any semblance of a pop culture education. Dean wasn’t even sure he’d ever read a fictitious book before.

            The eldest Winchester thought it was hilarious and adorable how utterly _confused_ Cas would look sometimes, blinking and tilting his head like a bird. Dean wanted to corrupt him with popular books and movie education, and then send him back to his uptight family. He only wished he could be there to see the chaos that would ensue the first time Cas made a reference no one else in his family got.

            Somewhere during the madness of the first two weeks, Lisa Braeden, a gorgeous woman studying to be a dietitian and fitness instructor, actually asked him out and he’d had to turn her down. He and Cas were just friends, but Castiel was who he really wanted to attempt a serious relationship with, so Cas was where he focused his attention. To do otherwise would have felt like he were being unfaithful, or treating both Cas and, in this case, Lisa with less respect than they deserved. It seemed dishonest, somehow.

Eventually he _would_ ask the other man out on an official date, where Dean would pay for dinner, take him to a movie, and hold his hand- the whole nine yards. But, Dean was carefully working his way to that. College life and humanity at its simplest seemed to overwhelm the other man sometimes, and with his strange and somewhat mysterious background and family, Dean was content to move slow rather than rush things and have it blow up in his face, costing him both his chance and his friend.

Any spare moment to socialize that Dean could manage, he typically spent with Castiel, who was actually his only friend on campus. From what Dean could tell he, Sam, and Charlie were the extent of Cas’ social circle as well.

            The sound of a glass bottle being kicked across pavement made Dean and Cas pause at the end of an alley one evening, peering into the dark, cramped space as they made their way to the used bookstore.

            A female figure was pressing another woman to a wall, the blade in her hand gleaming in the faint light before she sunk the weapon into the middle-aged woman’s abdomen. The victim let out a strangled, gasping sound, before the blade was yanked back out.

            “Let her go!” snarled Dean.

The shrouded assailant slashed the woman’s throat without bothering to look at her, her head turned to regard to two men at the mouth of the alley instead. Even through the shadows, Dean could see the way her face broke into a grin, before she turned and sprinted away in the opposite direction.

Her victim, a middle-aged woman whose mouth was opening and closing like a fish on land, slid down the wall to the cement just as Dean took off after her attacker. He spared her only a glance as he passed, yelling over his shoulder, “Stay with her and call 911!”

He knew even as he said it that she’d bleed out in minutes, and it incensed him. It should have been avoidable. It was bad timing that still felt like a personal failure.

The woman led him on chase down back alleys, twisting sharply around corners, and shoving stuff into his path in her wake. Jumping over an overturned trash bin that clanged loudly as it fell, Dean placed his hand over the mark on his chest, transforming just his boots landed on the pavement again. The change in the sound of his boots hitting the pavement made the woman look back, her shadowed face clear enough to show her surprise.

The pursuit led them through the congested buildings and across the street, the cement giving way to grass before they both threw themselves over the iron fence surrounding the cemetery and kept running.

The woman’s death hadn’t been an ordinary assault. The woman running from him had held a silver chalice under the other woman’s neck for the spilled blood to pour into. He’d never heard of a witch needing anything like that for spell work, making him think it had to be magic darker than he’d ever encountered. Was she a necromancer?

Whatever she was, she showed no signs of fatigue from trying to escape, even after all the distance they’d covered and the speed they’d maintained. Hunter sneered and leapt, curling one leg in, the other stretched out so that the heel of his boot landed solidly between her shoulder blades and sent her sprawling.

He landed, turning to face her just as the woman pushed herself to her knees, then up onto her feet. She was Middle Eastern, dressed in a motorcycle jacket and jeans. She would have been lovely were it not for the sneer and solid black eyes that made him do a double-take and  step back involuntarily, bringing his fists up in surprise.

She launched herself at him then, swinging hard with her right fist and releasing an animalistic snarl. Twisting, he caught her ankle with his boot and pushed against her shoulder as he spun out of the way of the attack. The woman staggered before attacking again. Her black eyes were unnerving.

“Who and what are you?” Hunter demanded, blocking a series of punches, before throwing her off balance again with one of his own. “Why did you attack that woman?”

“Such boring things to wonder when you’re the one dressed up for Halloween,” she retorted, checking the corner of her mouth for blood. “What happened to the guy?”

She came at him again, lacking any finesse or skill. Her lack of fighting ability surprised him, given the gall she’d displayed in murdering someone out in the relative open like she had. Grabbing her forearm during another wild punch, Hunter flipped her over his body and flat onto her back, audibly knocking the breath out of her. She lay there dazed and trying to remember how to breathe for a moment. It allowed him the second he needed to kneel and roll her over, his free hand reaching into a pouch on his belt that held his zip tie restraints.

Her shoulders shook with a chuckle, making him frown as she turned her head to regard the figure pinning her to the ground.

“Am I under arrest now? Off to jail?” This made her laugh harder, her bloody grin widening. “Fighting is so much more fun. We should do more of that.”

“Except you’re no good at it,” he told her, patting her down. His hair fell over his shoulder and into his eyes, and he shoved it behind his ear with one hand. With the other, he found the still bloody spade-shaped knife and tossed it to the grass. “And I’ve got rules I follow.  You get the right to a trial, and since you don’t seem the type to bite off their tongue in order to off themselves in captivity, I’m not gonna do you the favor of dealing with you now,” he said, securing her wrists behind her back.

            She shrugged, unconcerned. “You can try putting me in a cell. Soon as you do, I’ll be gone- like smoke.” This last part made her laugh again.

            “Trust me, lady,” he told her, turning her back over and into a sitting position, “things a lot tougher than you haven’t broken out of the Men of Letters’ cells, so I really doubt you’ll be the first.”

            She stiffened at that and he faltered at binding her ankles. He looked at her and black eyes locked with his, a smirk on her lips.

            “The Letters?” she echoed. “Someone works for the major league. Here I thought you meant downtown and shopping for a new suit and face, but if that’s the case…”

            She slammed her forehead into Hunter’s face, knocking the Ordained on to his back and clutching his nose as stars exploded in his vision. The woman scrambled to her feet, laughing maniacally. Oh yeah, she was definitely crazier than he originally took her for. Shaking his head with a groan, Hunter shifted to push himself back up, feet planted and his elbow under him, while his free hand checked for blood under his throbbing nose. Tears stung his eyes from the injury, making his expression darken as he turned to glare viciously.

He faltered at the way the woman stood frozen above him. Why wasn’t she running? Or attacking? Instead, she had a look of shock and fear on her face, before her rigid body convulsed violently and lit up from within, light pouring from her eyes and mouth as it opened in a silent scream of pain.

            Throwing up a hand, Hunter was forced to turn his face away from the brilliant light, only looking back when he heard a body thudding to the grass. He looked sharply at the corpse staring at him with burned out eye sockets. Horrified, his green eyes travelled up the form of the man standing over both of them, and he wondered if he wasn’t about to be in a fight for his own life.

            The man’s trench coat billowed around his legs as the night breeze swept through, lowering the temperature and causing goosebumps to cascade over Hunter’s skin. He stared up at the man shrouded in shadow and dressed in a cheap business suit and black domino mask. The man made no move to attack Hunter, in fact, stood still as a statue, his askew blue tie twisting and flapping in the wind as illuminated blue eyes peered down at the blond.

            It didn’t escape Hunter’s notice that of the four people apparently running around this city fighting monsters, he was the only one not wearing a mask.

            The shadows around the stranger shifted and moved, prompting Hunter to scramble backward and to his feet, sword appearing in hand as he realized the shadows were massive black _wings_ , the feathered appendages resettling against the man’s back.

            Hunter had seen a lot of things in his life, but never anything like he had tonight. His mind couldn’t make sense of any of it, prompting him closer to ‘kill first, question later’ territory as his eyes raked over this silent newcomer once more.

            The stranger lifted a hand. “Be at peace, Hunter. I’m here to help you,” he said, voice gravelly and serious.

            Hunter went out on a limb and guessed that had been said with a big ‘H’, rather than a little one. Normal hunters didn’t go around wearing costumes. So this newcomer either already knew about him, or had some mind-reading capabilities. Neither of these were comforting possibilities.

            “Is that why you killed her?” he shook his head, expression vicious. “I don’t need that kind of help.”

            The masked man shook his head, eyes piercing in the half light. The blond worried what weapons his coat might be hiding. “She was a demon, not human. She was too young to recognize an Ordained woman when she saw one-“

            “I identify as a guy,” Hunter snapped at him, trying and failing miserably to get any kind of read on the man other that if this came to a serious fight between them, the blond was way out of his league.

            Wings shifting again, the man inclined his head. “My apologies. She had never seen an Ordained before- male or female- and didn’t even know what she was up against, much like you have never seen nor have knowledge of how to fight a demon.”

            Even with the mask, Hunter could see how the other man’s brows drew together, eyes darting over the blond and his ready stance like it somehow confused him, was forcing him to reassess something.

            Hunter was equally confused. “Who _are_ you?” he demanded.

            The corners of the other man’s mouth wilted into a frown. “Were you not told?” he questioned. “I thought you would have anticipated our meeting. Every Ordained has an angel tasked with protecting them, of being their Guardian.”

            Hunter rolled his eyes, snorting. “Somehow, I really doubt that, Feathers. I’ve seen a lot of things, but angels and demons have never been one of them.”

            The angel pointed to the corpse on the ground. “Both are before you. Why do you doubt my existence?” He stretched out his wings as if to prove his point.

            Gauging the man as no longer an immediate threat to himself, Hunter returned his weapon to the ether, but maintained his distance. Straightening to full height, he looked the angel over from head to toe.

            “I don’t believe in angels because it’s humans down here fighting and dying in the mud to protect humanity from monsters- and demons, apparently. I know legend says the Ordained were created by Michael, but legends are legends. I’ve never seen any proof God or angels care the slightest what happens to us.”

            “We help in the capacity we are allowed,” the man- angel?- explained. “Just as we always have for the Ordained we are gifted the privilege to look after and protect.”

            Holding up a hand, Hunter shook his head and the angel fell silent. “Look, dude, I have grown up with this mess, okay? My mom’s costume may make her look like an angel- and certainly more like one than you do- but I have never actually seen one.” Frowning, the blond motioned to the masked angel in a trench coat and suit. “What is even your name?”

            “I-“ The man hesitated, then sighed heavily, both shoulders and gaze dropping as he admitted, “I have no name to give.”

            Hunter snorted. “God running short on names upstairs, Angel? Gonna break out numeric code next?”

            Angry eyes jerked up to glare at him then, the angel stiffened indignantly and slid his hands into the pockets of his coat. Hunter wondered if it was to disguise him balling his hands into fists, and what happened if you pissed off one of the warriors of God.

            “It is tradition that we do not make contact with our charge until they have struck out on their own. Uriel made contact with your mother, Winter Rose, when she first settled in Lawrence. Typically, Guardians choose to do their job from a distance.” When Hunter opened his mouth, Angel cut a hand through the air. “I only wished to take advantage of your unusual state of working alone so that I could introduce myself, as is mandatory.” He nodded to the body on the ground. “If demons are once again roaming the earth, you will most assuredly require my help in the future.” Piercing eyes met his again, and Hunter had to swallow thickly, heart hammering in his chest as they regarded each other. “You will need to call for the local cleanup crew.” Inclining his head, he unfurled his wings. “I look forward to working with you, Hunter.”

            There was a rustle of wings before he simply vanished from sight. The blond whirled around, jerking his gaze toward the sky, but saw nothing. Scowling, he reached up to touch the piece of technology in his ear, tapping it twice. He really hoped Garth was being well paid, because it seemed like he’d be earning it.

            As soon as they hung up, suddenly Hunter remembered he’d left poor Cas alone in an alley with a dying woman. He transformed to his regular appearance as he ran as fast as his legs would carry him. His phone immediately rang in his pocket as soon as he was Dean again.

            “Where _are_ you?” Cas demanded, sounding scared. “Are you okay? What happened?”

            “Cas, buddy, I am on my way. I’m so sorry I worried you. Are _you_ okay?” he questioned, skidding to a halt and pivoting when he heard wings.

            It was a group of birds on a fire escape rather than a trench coat wearing angel. Still, he cast his gaze to the sky and rooftops before taking off running again.

\--

 

            During their morning jog around the park, all three siblings dressed in sweatpants and hoodies, Dean told them about the attack the night before and his encounter with ‘Angel’, and about the demon and her victim’s miraculous good fortune.

            “All I’m saying,” Sam huffed, brushing a stray wet lock behind his ear, “is that it was _dark_. Maybe you didn’t see it clearly.”

            Nearly growling in frustration, Dean grit his teeth. “No, Sammy. I saw it fine. The stomach wound alone should have killed her, but then she slashed her throat.” He heaved several breaths. “Blood just pouring. I even went by the hospital with Cas last night. Doctors said it’s a miracle. They couldn’t even see where the throat was torn open, just a shallow cut. The victim was in shock, so she wasn’t much help, but I _know_ what I saw.”

            Beside him, Charlie turned her head. “So a chase, a fight, and then an accidental corpse?” He nearly winced. “I saw the email requesting a report on why the clean-up crew had to be called in again, and why there was a body rather than a prisoner.”

            “ _I_ didn’t kill her,” he enunciated. “I want that very clear. I was tying her up when she about broke my nose with her forehead-“ They both hissed with commiseration and he nodded. “Yeah. Had I been _me_ , it _would_ have broken my nose. Even as Hunter, I still thought she had for a second. _Angel_ killed her. Said she was a demon.”

            “Angel _is_ a demon or Angel _killed_ a demon?” asked Charlie.

            “Killed the supposed demon.”

            “Who is Angel?” wondered Sam, frowning. “Another hunter? Or did Michael create a second Chosen bloodline we never knew about, which means a second active Ordained?”

            Dean sucked in a sharp breath. His original spiel about the whole evening hadn’t been too articulate, he would admit, he’d been too rattled and desperate to call his mother.

            “Angel is an angel in a mask and trench coat, and sporting these huge black wings and messy hair,” he huffed in annoyance. “Apparently, Michael assigns each Chosen an angel for protection detail.”

            Sam came to a complete stop at the same time he grabbed the front of Dean’s hoodie, hands curling in the front of it and yanking the shorter man closer.

            “ _Are you serious?_ ” he demanded, eyes childishly wide with excitement. “A _real_ angel? With wings? What did they look like? I thought Angel was her _name_. Did she use any weapons? How did she know you needed help?”

            Rolling his eyes in exasperation, the blond grabbed his brother’s wrists. “Whoa, dude. Curb your enthusiasm.” When Sam released him and the three of them were standing in a circle, Dean said, “First off, Angel is a guy. Second, I don’t actually know his name, because he said he didn’t have one to give. ‘Angel’ is better than ‘Hey You’. He had big ass black feathery wings and a mask and blue eyes that I swear to God glowed. I didn’t see any weapons on him, but I’m pretty sure he killed her just by grabbing the back of her head-“

            Sam had fistfuls of the front of Dean’s hoodie again. “He smited her?! Like an honest to God biblical smiting?!”

            The blond flailed his way free, straightening his clothing again. “Yes, Sam, geez. Smited her from the inside-out. Burned the eyes from her sockets. He told me he was my personal angel and that demons roam the earth, then he flew off.”

            While Sam went into fangirl exclamations and general geeking out over the existence of angels, plus questioning the science of them, Dean looked at their sister for help.

            Charlie wore an expression of impressed consideration, lips pursed and nodding. “Gotta say: he sounds dreamy. And hot.” She blinked, gaze refocusing on her older brother. “He’s lucky I’m gay. I’d have hit on that so fast.” Dean tried not to think about the fact that had he not been so scared at the time, he’d probably agree with her summation.  She angled her head, looking at him in question. “Can you get smited for being attracted to an angel?”

            Lying was the easiest response, so that was the one he went for, waving dismissively. “Nothing attractive about him, and more importantly,” he pressed, when she opened her mouth to argue, “how does he think he can help? I have you two.” He folded his arms. “Now. We need to contact MoL and get all the files they have on demons. And angels. Call Mom again to ask about demons and if she’s ever run into one, but we can’t tell her we did. She’ll just worry.”

            Sam rubbed at his chin, thinking. “Did she tell you why she never told us about angels, or that you would get your own?”

            Rubbing at his forehead, Dean sighed, feeling a low throb starting behind his eye. “She said it was a coming of age thing. A milestone as the next of our bloodline.” He let his hand drop and shook his head. “I didn’t have the heart to tell her it was not the formal introduction and pledge of protection and loyalty she seemed to think it would be.”

\--

            According to the information they were told from the Letters’ personal records, and from the files they sent over: demons last walked the earth in number when Joan of Arc did, when the threat they posed was so great Michael created the first champion to fight for the sake of humanity.

            Hell had been trying to break free, for Lucifer and his followers to spill out into humanity’s realm and take over. Since that was when the Men of Letters was initially established- by her Second in Command and a group of men most loyal to Joan- the records were not the original and more legend than fact. The original stories were recorded in memory and passed on by word of mouth until the Letters further established themselves as an organization.

            According to legend, Joan closed the portal Hell succeeded in opening by falling into it- a funnel of fire and storm, which was where the story of her execution as a martyr came from. There were no records of any real demon activity since then, at least, nothing on that scale.

            Their mother had never seen a demon, either. They’d had to lie about why they were asking, blamed the MoL demanding they know about even archaic and extinct threats to ensure the knowledge not be lost. It inspired a new round of questions about the monster activity in the area and why they picked a Monster Hot Zone that went above and beyond any of the others. Also, she wanted to know when they were coming home for a visit and if they were eating properly. Apparently, to a mother’s eye, they all looked peckish and tired.

\--

            It was a few days later when Dean felt the eyes on him again. The three of them were out in full costume, Falcon in his black Kevlar lined suit and utility belt, and Night Fox with the hood of her costume up, casting her face in shadow as she pulled an arrow from the quiver on her back and notched it. They had just rescued a woman from being assaulted when Hunter felt it. The sensation was strong and familiar, freezing him in his tracks in the alley, head jerking back to regard the sky as violently as if he’d been grabbed by his hair.

            The difference this time was… he was able to hone in on it.

            “It’s back,” was all he said, before taking a running leap onto the fire escape, then across to volley off the adjacent building, and finally up onto the roof of a second hand clothing boutique.

            The sight of Angel standing on the other side of the building’s roof brought him up short and he faltered, glancing left and right for a monster instead. The other man waited silently for Hunter to connect the dots and realize it had been the angel watching them that night in the woods, too.

            Hunter stood stiffly, mouth pressed into a flat line and glaring as Falcon and Night Fox made it to the roof. Falcon opened his mouth to question, and then closed it at the sight of the current standoff.

            “What do _you_ want?” demanded Hunter, hair tousled in the breeze. He could feel the air tug at the bow on the back of his costume.

            “To help,” came the low reply as the angel retrieved a jagged edged knife with a bone handle from his coat pocket and tossed it almost lazily. The blade flashed and lodged itself soundly at Falcon’s feet, causing all of them to jerk into a defensive posture. Angel inclined his head toward the weapon. “Demons can travel from body to body, and can’t be killed by normal weapons.”

            “Wouldn’t that mean killing the host body as well, then?” wondered Falcon. The celestial being inclined his head. The brunette looked aghast. “We don’t kill people- those hosts are victims-“

            “The hosts are already dead,” the other man said. “It is easier for the demon to kill the host from the inside, than to constantly fight with them for control of the body. Being in a body is the only time they are vulnerable for you to injure them.” His eyes met the blond’s and Hunter had to suck in a deep breath. “Hunter, your sword is imbued with the same power as Michael’s, and can therefore kill anything. Falcon, you fight with knives, so this will be of use to you. Night _Fox_ , correct?” he questioned carefully, brow arching as he regarded their sister. She nodded, and he shook his head in return. “I do not have any ranged weapons for you, but the runes can be inscribed into the shafts of your arrows. That being said… it may be best you both hang up your costumes and let those capable of doing so fight the upcoming battles.”

            “To hell with that,” barked the blond, hands curling into fists down by his sides.

            There was a flash of anger in the other man’s eyes, giving Hunter a small measure of satisfaction as those impossibly blue eyes snapped back to him with a glare.

            “They are a liability, and your concern for their well-being will only distract you. If I am to turn you into a true warrior in the face of this new threat, you will need determination and _focus_.”

            “They can take care of themselves,” Hunter retorted.

            “Hunter, my priority is _you_ ,” the angel barked back, some sliver of angelic power seeping into his words and causing the hair on the back of their necks to stand on end in warning. “I exist to keep you alive, and to do that I must make you a warrior without such obvious chinks in your armor,” he snarled, advancing a few paces toward them.

            So fast it actually startled the angel, Night Fox and Falcon launched weapons at him. Those stunning blue eyes widened for a split second, before he spun in a swirl of tan fabric and black feathers, one hand snatching the arrow out of the air, while the knives were knocked uselessly aside by an impenetrable wing.

            In the second in took him to make a full circle and face them again, all three fighters were already armed, ready, and glaring dangerously, fully prepared to get into a fight with an angel if they had to, regardless of the odds against them- or that they knew they would lose.

            Pursing his lips, Angel lowered his gaze to regard the arrow with disinterest, then the throwing knives on the tarmac, before his gaze drifted casually to the warriors.

            “Not a single one of these would have hit a vital point had they even landed.”

            Falcon tipped his chin. “We don’t kill anyone we can spare.”

            The angel lifted a brow, gaze boring into Hunter’s. It was false bravado, and even as a team, he did not consider the three of them a threat easily handled.

            It shouldn’t have been hot.

            “Fine,” Angel relented, gravel voice low and even. “I will allow them to remain active and to continue to work with you.”

            Hot nothing. Angels were dicks.

            Clenching his teeth, Hunter took an angry step forward, gravel crunching underfoot as he jabbed a finger in the air. “ _Allow_? You’re the gatecrasher, buddy. No one invited you to work with or be a part of this team.”

            Real anger flared then, a pulse of power so great they stepped back. “This is _not_ an alliance,” he snarled, advancing. “I am not joining _your_ fight. You are being called to the front lines of _war._ ” He yanked Hunter forward by his shirt, fist curled in fabric as he brought them almost nose-to-nose. “If you have _any_ desire to survive and save humanity, then you will do _as I say_.”

            The blond swallowed.

            Yeah, that shouldn’t have been hot, either.

 

 

 

 

 

\--

            The sounds of Dean’s fists connecting with the pads on Sam’s hands were rhythmic and loud in the small training room. Charlie’s rapid keyboard clicks like an off-tempo metronome in the background. All three of them were reflected in the mirrors lining one side of the room they’d commandeered for themselves.

            “Who the hell does he think he is?” he demanded with a series of punches. “Literally drops out of the sky, tells me angels and demons exist, and then has the _audacity_ to expect me to lose- _to give up_ \- two-thirds of this team? Pretty sure the whole reason Joan _had_ her army was to _fight_ the demons and Hell!”

            Grunting from that last right-cross, Sam backed off, removing the glove to shake out his stinging hand.

            “Pretty sure Joan wasn’t as emotionally invested in her soldiers as we are in each other,” he said, before sliding the pad back on and the sound of fist impacts continued. “She could sacrifice the two-thirds. Angel has a point in that we all have fairly obvious weak points to be exploited, the good guys always do.”

            Seated against the wall, Charlie decided to stay out of it, letting Sam handle Dean’s roiling anger, while she scoured the databases and records for anything to add to their growing pile of information regarding demons or Joan of Arc’s real battle and what actually took place back then.

            “That doesn’t give him the right-“

            “It doesn’t,” Sam agreed, tone placating, “but he also saw it as a way to try and protect you. I mean, an angel who can smite this new enemy- an enemy we know nothing about I would remind you- with only a touch? Not to mention whatever other abilities or knowledge he may have or has access to? I’m pretty sure from a strategic point it was well worth the trade-off.”

Fierce green eyes flashed, punches gaining strength at Sam’s words. The brunette backpedaled, “But all three of us are still together and now we have an actual _angel_ on our side, Dean. An angel with access to information and resources not available on earth, like the runes on the knife he gave us.” His brother’s hits faltered, the blond panting as the wheels clearly turned in his head. Sam gently prodded, “Think of the opportunity this has given us, Dean.”

His brother raised his gaze to his. “So, you’re saying _we_ use _him_ to learn more about what we’re dealing with?”

Smiling, Sam gave a sharp nod. “Exactly.”

            Brows furrowed and mouth a frown, Dean shook his head and moved away, snatching up his water. His gaze shifted from the plastic bottle in his hands to the reflection of his siblings in the mirror as Sam took a seat by Charlie and they balanced the laptop between them. He looked at his reflection then, meeting his own gaze and holding it.

            He didn’t want to fight Hell and demons. Dean didn’t want to get tangled up with angels and this apparent war between the two races, didn’t want to drag his brother and sister into the middle of that fight.

            He’d just wanted for them to get out on their own and stretched their wings a bit, to go away to college and escape the protective eye of their mother, the strict rule of the Men of Letters.

            His gaze fell.

            He wanted to ask Cas out on an actual date, and laugh at how pop culture references just went over the other man’s head to the point he’d given up trying to understand them. Dean wanted to hold his hand and kiss him good-night, to take things slow, and enjoy every moment of the time they could steal away for themselves.

            Not this. He didn’t want the fate of so many resting on his shoulders, obligated to take a stand because there was no one else who could.

 

\-----

Thanks again to everyone who has made artwork for this fic! They are all amazing!

[ ](http://maagiicmee.tumblr.com/post/118455610306/the-ordained-fanart-aceo-card-because-im-in-love)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  

Chapter Four

 

            Camped out in some long unused library archives room, Dean was reminded of his punishments as a child, of having to go into the MoL archives and help reorganize and file for hours, every day until the punishment was finished.

            That was after his first transformation when he was seven. After their father, John, had died- a Man of Letters himself, and before Mary adopted Charlie. John’s death had been his own fault. He’d stubbornly worked a case he’d been ordered not to, had been reminded that the Ordained were the ones that worked the field and fought the battles, and that it was the job of the Men of Letters to remain in a supportive role. John couldn’t stand the perceived slight to his masculinity, thought it backwards that a woman was the one on the battlefield while _he_ was the one in a supportive role. Women weren’t warriors, men were.

            It had been an old wound in their family. Dean could remember hearing his parents fighting about it downstairs, especially after Dean transformed that first time. God, that had caused a blowup unlike anything the Winchester house had ever seen. His father had wanted to be out in field instead of Mary, or at least with her, and she refused to allow it. So had Henry.

            How was she supposed to do her job if she was constantly worrying about his safety? He may have known the _facts_ about monsters, but he’d never faced one, had absolutely no _practical_ experience. John was Henry’s successor at the Men of Letters. If something happened to him, what then?

            But John had been stubborn and full of pride; growing increasingly resentful toward his wife, their fights louder and more violent to the point Mary packed John’s things and had the locks changed on the house.

            His obsession with not being outdone by a woman, by his wife, ended in her having to bury him and raised their two small boys on her own, Dean age seven, Sam age five.

            Dean could still remember the sneer and the sound of the door slamming when his father had seen him transformed that first time. John took it personally, and in turn, had directed such a hate-filled look at his son, the child had recoiled as though he’d been hit, and looked to his mother for help. That had been the last time Dean ever saw his father alive.

            After John’s death, Mary started taking her boys to Grandpa Henry’s work, and their education into the supernatural began. After all, Dean was her successor. With John dead, it meant Sam would have to be Henry’s.

            If adopting Charlie months later was ever an issue- or if her being taught and trained alongside her brothers was ever questioned, the children never knew about it. There were no more loud fights or angry yelling after John’s death, not between the adults, anyway.

            Spending hours tucked in a dusty corner of some forgotten room in a library though, that they were well familiar with. Given the architecture and electrical fixtures, not to mention the heavy scent of old books and age, it wouldn’t have surprised them if the MoL bunker and the library were built around the same time.

            They weren’t sitting at the one lonely table in the forgotten corridor, but were instead camped in the very back corner on the unforgiving floor, hidden by rows of forgotten texts and surrounded by stacks of others.

            This was the only place they’d found where they could research and talk without having to worry about being overheard, or being reported for the odd mix of occult, religious, and historical books they’d sequestered for themselves, or the accordion file folders full to bursting of notes and records sent over from the Letters, many of them discolored with age.

            They’d been searching- with a manic sort of desperation- through books, files, notes, and records for the past week, only to have no clear idea of what an actual demon sighting could mean, why one of Heaven’s own was so clearly concerned by it, or what it meant for any of them.

            Dean’s head was throbbing all over, his eyes hurting from strain and overuse. Tearing his gaze away from the folder across his lap, Dean scrubbed a hand over his face.

            He needed lots of water and sleep if he had any desire to stop the pounding of his head, but as he glanced at his siblings, eyes drifting to the history books and then the hand-written records kept on every Chosen as the line of the Ordained continued with each new generation… it felt as though they had achieved nothing.

            They already knew their family history and the stories of every Ordained that came before Dean, starting with Joan, but even when searching back through the records with new eyes that knew both angels and demons could take human form and walk the earth, they hadn’t learned anything new.

            He looked back down at the files, a sudden feeling of disgust surging over him. He slammed it shut and tossed it onto a discarded pile.

            “We’re done,” he announced, throwing up his hands.

            They both regarded him, Sam with raised eyebrows. “You find something?”

            “No,” admitted the eldest Winchester, “and we’re probably not going to. We have too little to go on as far as what we’re actually looking for. Meanwhile, we’re distracted in our classes and patrol, plus have _actual_ homework that is piling up.” When Charlie snorted and nodded, Dean cut a hand through the air. “We’re done. We’re blindly searching and not even sure what we’re searching for. The way things are going, even if we saw it, we would miss it due to sleep deprivation and blurred vision.”

            Chuckling, Sam set aside his book. “I’ll go get coffee.”

            Dean sighed with relief, head sagging forward.

            “Don’t get too excited, Dean,” Charlie warned. She pushed his book bag toward him when he looked up. “Homework to get caught up on now, Winchester. Like, more than just the reading.”

            He put his forehead in his hands and stared dejectedly at the bag. “Living a double-life is so much easier on TV and in movies.”

            Sam’s back popped as he unfolded to full height and stretched. “Well, ours will be easier once I go snag coffee,” he said, checking his watch.

            Knowingly, Charlie smirked. “You just want an excuse to make eyes at Sarah.”

            A deep blush immediately tinged Sam’s cheeks, making Dean blink with surprise. “Sarah?” He turned demandingly for answers. “Who’s Sarah?”

            The other man winced and covered his face with one hand. “Nobody. Don’t worry about it.” He dropped his arm and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “It’s nothing.”

            Dean’s head swiveled to Charlie expectantly. She grinned and leaned forward. “Sarah Michelle Blake. She alternates working nights in either the school library or at the coffee shop. She and Sam are having an epic romance that consists of extra study sessions in the library when she’s working and the two of them sending longing looks from a distance as she re-shelves and he pretends to study, but no actual talking. I swear to God, he tried three times to go in the coffee shop one day when she was working, before finally fleeing. I was inside with Gilda; he never saw me- _his own sister_.” She sucked on her teeth and shook her head. “I’m gonna start having popcorn on hand for these secret rendezvous.”

            The blush that had just been on his cheeks now encompassed Sam’s neck as he practically squawked, “Oh my god, we do not have rendezvous! I haven’t even said ‘hi’ yet!”

            Dean barked a laugh. “Dear God, would you look at him blush. Charlie, I think our little Sammy here is in love! Should we feel threatened and jealous? Is he breaking up our family unit?”

            Charlie mocked glared at their brother. “Little two-bit tramp.”

            “She is not!” the brunette defended.

            She grinned wickedly. “I meant you.”

            Covering his face with his hands, Sam threw his head back with a pained groan. “Shut up. I hate you both.” He spun away huffily. “I’m going get coffee.”

            The tips of his ears were even red where they peeked out from his hair.

            Waving at his turned back, Charlie called out, “Tell Sarah we said ‘hi’.”

            The sing-song of her voice was answered with Sam slamming the door shut in his wake, causing both his siblings to burst into snorts of laughter.

\--

            Charlie and Sam were already outside ready to start their morning jog when Dean staggered out of the room, still struggling to tug on one shoe and force his brain to wakefulness. They were going to have to find some better way of juggling their hours to incorporate more decent amounts of sleep.

            “Dean,” someone said in surprise.

            He looked up to find Castiel seemingly returning to his room.

            “Cas!” he greeted, straightening with a grin, which the other man returned with a smile of his own.

            They’d been so busy with classes, research, patrol, training, and homework, not to mention trying to get in what little sleep they could, Dean hadn’t seen his friend in… a week? Somewhere there about. Too long. Seeing the darker haired man, Dean could feel tension in his muscles loosen, his smile widen, and he realized how much he’d missed him.

            Licking his lip, Cas dropped his gaze. “What are you up to so early in the morning?” he questioned, tone carefully casual, as if trying to play off or suppress the way his own eyes had lit up at the sight of the blond.

            Like he’d missed Dean, too.

            Castiel’s reaction made Dean’s heart flutter in his chest, unable to wipe away the grin still on his face- his earlier exhaustion forgotten.

            He jerked his head toward the doors. “About to go for our morning jog. You?”

            Head lifting, Cas blinked rapidly a moment, mouth opening in a response before he cast his gaze away again. Dean wondered if he’d been out all night at a party or something and was trying to come up with a lie. It was college. He was pretty sure all the other students on campus were out partying regularly, save for him and his siblings.

            “I was meditating.” His gaze met Dean’s. “Trying to come up with solutions to some things I’ve been working on.”

            The blond blinked in surprise. “Really? I guess I can see that,” he said, though as he took in the other man’s appearance, he really couldn’t.

            What little he knew about meditation, it was supposed to be relaxing, and though Cas was dressed casual- seriously, did the guy just have multiple sets of the exact same outfit?- his posture seemed too stiff and formal, like he was anything but comfortable and relaxed. Dean made a stab in the dark and guessed Castiel hadn’t found a solution to his problem.

            Dean motioned to the door again. “Well, if you want, you’re always welcome to go on a jog with us. It can help you think, and we go every day.”

            Castiel tensed a moment, and then looked sharply at Dean, blinking with surprise at the invitation. His expression morphed, brows drawing together and lips wilting into a frown as he considered the idea, as though the idea of jogging had never occurred to him.

            “I am not in the habit of… _running_ to where I need to be,” he said carefully.

            A huff of laughter escaped Dean, before he glanced at the doors and then back at Cas, wishing he could just bail on training this one time in favor of salvaging his social life.

            Forcing a smile, Dean clapped a hand on Cas’ shoulder, motioning with his thumb toward the door. It wasn’t lost on him how many of their meetings seemed to go the exact same way.

            “Well, I have to go before they get a head start and force me to catch up.” He walked backwards away from Castiel while pointing at him. “But the offer stands, dude. Any time. We’ll train you if you don’t know how to run. It _is_ something you learn.”

            Cas’ expression softened, a smile playing at the corner of his lips as he nodded, one hand lifting in a wave as Dean passed through the door.

            It didn’t matter that it was a beautiful morning and perfect weather for a run, or what he’d told Cas about it being able to help a person think. Dean was unable to lose himself in the exercise, instead, the entire time his mind kept drifting back to Castiel, wishing he were with him instead.

\--

            Since the night Charlie’s family was attacked, and since Mary had taken the girl in as one of her own, she’d never once been left out of Dean’s, and subsequently Sam’s, training. She’d learned and trained right alongside them, and had eventually begun designing and experimenting with costumes, and later fighting the monsters of myth and legend like she’d been born to it.

            She was the youngest, only by a few months, but Hunter and Falcon had never once left Night Fox behind- or even tried- before that night, so it wasn’t exactly a surprise when they heard running through the woods behind them, her voice calling out, “Wait!”

            They both turned to see her only half in costume, her leather jacket tucked under her arm as one hand adjusted her mask, clasping the glove on the other with her teeth and pulling it more secure.

            “Dudes,” she panted grinning. “Why the time change? Gilda thinks I ran out the door late for an actual LARP event.”

            He didn’t ask how she knew they’d both left already. She had undoubtedly put locators on them, probably built into their ear pieces, which alerted her. Hunter sighed heavily, having really hoped to avoid this.

            “Go home, Night Fox,” he told her with a nod toward the college. “We have patrol covered.”

            She blinked with a start, confused. “When have I ever missed patrol unless I was sick or injured?” She frowned and shook her head. “Is this about what Angel said? About things being more dangerous now?”

            Running a black glove through his hair, Falcon sighed. His entire outfit was black from head to toe save for the blue band running across his chest. For a moment, Hunter wished he had the same ability to just fade into the shadows like his brother could.

“Fox, if something happened to you, it would be our fault.” Falcon gave her a pleading look. “Go home. Please.”

            Frowning, she narrowed her eyes, gaze flicking between both of them and reading the differences in their expressions, before she straightened with a small gasp.

            “This is about me being a _girl_ , isn’t it?” she demanded, voice dropping as she glared. “You have an all-male team now, basically, so I get the axe.”

            Opening his mouth to argue, Hunter stopped short at the way Falcon winced and looked away. His mouth clicked shut, pivoting and crossing his arms to address their brother.

            “ _Really_?” he demanded incredulously. “Way to pull a dick move, Sammy. The hell?”

            “So what’s your reason?” she demanded, folding her arms and shifting her weight expectantly.

            He turned to her. “You’re my baby sister and the youngest. If something happened to you, Mom would kill us for recklessly endangering you.” Waving one hand dismissively, he continued, “With Angel forcing his help, we still have a team of three, with additional fighting abilities and knowledge. Four people in costume- one of them with wings- will draw even more attention than normal.” He shrugged. “You are the youngest, smallest, and most vulnerable. It made the most sense you should be benched- _just until_ we get a handle on whatever is going on. Things go back to normal? You’re back on active duty and we kick Angel to the curb.”

            His face morphed into incredulous disgust as he turned to his younger brother. “Your logic was to bench her because she’s a girl? Need I remind you that the Chosen are _always_ girls when on the battlefield- for _this_ very reason right here? That the _Men_ of Letters are forced into a supportive role only, and that as Grandpa’s successor _you_ aren’t even supposed to be out here _in the first place_?”

            Night Fox threw up her hands. “Then why are you benching me?”

            He turned to her. “Because you are ninety pounds soaking wet and I can easily throw you when I’m a guy and don’t have my powers, okay? Because you have the least amount of Kevlar and padding in your costume, and are trained for long-range weaponry. As useful as Angel may prove in a fight, I still don’t trust him to be the one at my back.” He paused, eyes playing over her face as his voice dropped. “Because if we have to call Mom from the ER or hospital, it’ll be my fault as the eldest; and should the worse ever happen to me on the field, Falcon will automatically activate as the next in line as a Chosen, and therefore would need to be as nearby as possible. We can afford to bench you and ensure one of us is safe. So please, Charlie… go back.”

            She just stared at him, wide-eyed and brows furrowed, like she was trying to comprehend what _must_ be a misunderstanding or that Hunter was going to take the words back.

            He didn’t, watching as her lips trembled, unshed tears welling in her eyes and spilling over silently as she clutched one hand to her chest and took an uncertain step back. When she turned her face away, more tears slipped down her cheeks and she sniffed wetly. Hunter was forced to look away, running a hand over his face and tilting his head up to regard the sky as he tried to blink back his own tears of pain and guilt.

            The three of them had been a team since the day they saved Charlie from the ghouls that had been posing as her parents. From the very first moment she knew the new faces meant safety, she’d thrown herself at them, arms wrapping around Hunter and sobbing into the ruffles and lace of his costume as he hugged her back.

            At the police station, Dean and Sam had sat on either side of her in the hard plastic chairs, each holding one of her hands while waiting for Child Services and a representative from the Men of Letters to show up.

            Charlie hadn’t even questioned Dean’s ability to change from the girl in a frilly green dress to the boy now holding her hand, or how his mom had gone from looking like a warrior angel dressed in white to a regular mom in jeans and a sweater, or where their weapons had gone, or even how they’d come to be there in the first place to rescue her. She’d just clutched his hand and fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder as they took her home with them, leaving the Letters rep to sort out all the paperwork, red tape, and false documentation.

            Now, Falcon nudged Hunter gently and turned away, knowing that if they didn’t leave soon, their resolve would crumble to dust.

            Trying to swallow the lump in his throat, Hunter reached out to cup the side of Night Fox’s face, thumb stroking over the black of her mask to brush a tear away.

            “I just want you safe, Charlie.” His hand fell limp to his side as he stepped away from her, hardening his resolve. “Go home.”

            He turned and walked away.

 

\--

 

            It didn’t take long for Falcon and Hunter to find trouble. Back home, to find something supernatural going on in town usually required constantly monitoring news stories and keeping an eye on the local PD. Their mom didn’t patrol from crime, but would stop it if she happened across it on some other case. Criminals carried guns, and while she was sturdy, she certainly wasn’t bullet proof. Her children had already lost one parent; she wasn’t risking them losing the other.

            Despite their unusual family business, they’d grown up with a fairly normal life. Their mother worked her ‘second job’ only when she had a legit case, and was there in the evening to help with homework and hear about their day.

            This town was nothing like Lawrence. They’d done patrol every night at first just to better learn the city and get a feel for it and its secrets. It hadn’t taken long to realize they’d be doing patrol every night for a while, until monsters and crime alike learned there were scarier things out there _they_ needed to fear, that the city now had protectors.

            They’d known the city was a red flag, high monster activity area, and they’d chosen it because of that, because it was unprotected. But they hadn’t expected it to be anything like what they found.

            The woman in leather pants and a black leather jacket over a t-shirt wasn’t even trying to be subtle as she spray-painted symbols and language characters on the store front of the used book store.

It was already closed down for the night. Everything within walking distance of the college closed down by eight. It wasn’t a bad town or a big city filled with crime. It was just a magnet for trouble that included the usual petty crimes of people out too late with no one to hold them accountable for their actions. It was a relatively quiet town, which made anyone out after all the shops had closed automatically suspect. The spray painted runes and symbols were a major giveaway the red head in leather was more than their average vandal, and she was older than the rebellious young criminals they usually encountered, somewhere in her early to mid-thirties if Hunter had to guess.

            She was humming to herself as she tossed away the depleted can or red paint, the sound of metal rolling over concrete echoing down the alley as she grabbed a fresh one from a bag and began shaking it. Her eyes trailed over her work as if searching for where to make her next stroke of paint. That was when they leapt down to the sidewalk from their vantage point overhead. The red head faltered, only turning to look at them once they’d straightened, her bright red lips curling as they crossed their arms. Clearly, she wasn’t one to be easily spooked or intimidated.

            “Well, well,” she cooed, eyes flicking to each of them. “Aren’t the two of you cute, though a bit early and too old to ask for candy.” She dropped the can, tilting her head to consider them. Hunter would have sworn her eyes turned black, but then… they weren’t and she was leering at them with green eyes. “It’s been a while since I’ve run into one of your kind,” she continued conversationally, regarding Hunter’s outfit with an interest he found unsettling. “Go to sleep in a crypt for a few centuries and the world’s all shiny and new for a moment, but I suppose some things never change.” She lifted her head and their gazes locked, the corner of her mouth curling as she arched a brow and said, “I thought your line was extinct, but I guess Michael couldn’t allow his chosen warriors to die off with dignity.”

            Lifting her hand, she flicked her fingers toward them, sending them flying backward and then rolling across pavement. Hunter felt the skin on his elbows get torn as they scraped cement. She sauntered forward a few steps as they scrambled to their feet in the middle of the street, eyes wide with surprise at being caught off guard, and also at being thrown without being _touched_. She regarded Falcon, tsking lightly as she gave him a once-over.

            “And as always, you’ve seduced some poor sap to die for your cause as well. This one’s definitely prettier than some of the others I’ve seen. That costume really shows off the physique,” she purred, eyes shifting to solid onyx.

            No, it _hadn’t_ been a trick of the light when Hunter saw it earlier. She was the first demon he’d seen since the night Angel appeared and introduced himself.

            They attacked her as one, knives flying at her in a flash of metal as Hunter launched himself forward. He swung at her as she danced out of the way, light on her toes and bouncing, fluid as a dancer. Falcon’s blades flew right by her. Smirking, she caught Hunter’s fist before it connected with her jaw, her other hand curling under his belt.

            “Don’t be jealous, pet. You’re pretty, too.” Her grip and stance shifted, throwing Hunter head long over her shoulder and to the pavement like he weighed absolutely nothing. He lay there for a split second trying to remember how to breathe, blinking stars from his eyes. “I bet you’re just Michael’s favorite,” she said, throwing Falcon away from a sweep of her arm. Again, she didn’t even touch him.

            Falcon twisted, rolling into the fall, knee of his uniform and boots scraping on pavement as he landed and slid into a crouch. Glaring up at her, Hunter held out his hand, sword materializing instantly. He slashed wildly, forcing her back and allowing him the space to get to his feet.

            She was grinning as he faced her. “Oh, now things might get fun. You’re taking me seriously.”

            Falcon readied more blades to throw at her, pausing as a voice tutted lightly.

            A man stood leaning casually against the corner of the building, half shrouded in shadow. As the newcomer stepped out into the streetlight, blond and unassuming, the woman laughed with delight in the other direction. Falcon looked over to see her parrying off Hunter’s assaults with a long silver blade of her own that was not quite a short sword, too bright and gleaming to be man-made.

            With a flash of teeth, the woman leapt to an overhang and then onto the roof of the building, light on her feet and nearly soundless. Hunter followed, his boots making more noise as he jumped and landed, then sprinted after her across the rooftop, jumping the open space between buildings and ledges as she nimbly led chase, laughing in delight.

            On the ground, Falcon watched them anxiously, moving to follow on the ground.

            “I wouldn’t,” called the blond in warning.

            The masked man looked over to him. The stranger looked… normal. Older than Falcon, he was dressed in a t-shirt and denim over shirt with jeans. But it was his face that was most striking, some buzz of power rolling off this man that made Falcon step in time with him as he stepped further away from the building. They circled each other, maintaining the same distance until the man had placed himself as an obstacle between Falcon and chasing after Hunter.

            The blond gave a sympathetic smile and shook his head. “It would do you no good. You’re human and can’t keep up.” Folding his arms, he tilted his head with a smile, blue eyes dancing mischievously. “It would be in your best interest to stand down… Sam.”

            The brunette man stiffened, eyes widening in sudden shock and horror, and a chill washed over him. The other man grinned and placed a finger to his lips.

            “Oh don’t worry; your secret’s safe with me,” he promised with a wink.

            Falcon twisted and spun, flinging a knife at the man with a cry of anger. In a sound of wind and feathers, suddenly the stranger was almost directly in front of him, still smirking that secret smile and considering Falcon in a way that almost seemed fond.

            Grinding his teeth, Falcon made a series of punches and kicks, aiming everywhere and unable to land a single blow, the other man moving out of the way by millimeters or blocking hits with an almost lazy ease that was both insulting and infuriating.

            “You know,” drawled the blond, twisting out of the way of one of Falcon’s punches, before grabbing his wrist and twisting his arm behind his back, other hand coming around from behind to press against his chest, pinning Falcon against him, “you have amazing eyes,” he commented, voice low and smooth in the taller man’s ear.

            Falcon wrenched away, the other man clearly allowing it. The lack of resistance threw Falcon off balance, before he spun to face his unnamed opponent again.

            The blond man smiled, tipping his head to the side. “Shall we continue?”

 

Several blocks away, Hunter and the woman had stopped running and were aggressively exchanging blows with one another.

            “What are those symbols you painted?” he demanded, attempting a right-cross she leaned out of the way of before turning to kick his legs out from under him. Hunter jumped out of the way of her attack, somersaulting through the air over her head and pivoting as he landed. “What do they say?” he continued.

            Taking a step back, she fell into a bow, one hand over her heart and other extended to the side, all the while never taking her eyes off of him. She grinned.

            “Abaddon lives. All hail the Queen.”

            She straightened and he snorted, one hand shoving his hair behind his ear. Sweat was gliding down his temple, and the bloody scrapes on his arms stung and throbbed. She didn’t even appear to be winded.

            “Yeah, I’m calling bullshit on that one,” he said, “but I’m guessing ‘Abaddon’ is you.”

            Her gaze flicked away as she made a face and shrugged. “Not officially queen, but I may as well be.” Stance shifting for a forward assault, she grinned, sharp and dangerous, her entire demeanor changing. “I’ll mount your pretty head to the top of my throne once I am, though.”

            She moved in a blur, suddenly _right there_ in Hunter’s space and her fist connecting with the blond’s jaw, sending him sprawling across the rooftop. He didn’t even have time to clear his head before she’d jerked him up by the front of his costume, raising him up until his feet were dangling off the ground and unable to find traction. Her lips pulled into a wide grin and Abaddon threw him over the ledge toward the street below like she was hurling a ball.

            It was the most he could do to try and lessen the damage of the impact, feeling as concrete ripped as his uniform and exposed skin as he rolled and skidded across concrete, as his entire body protested the abuse, his bones threatening to break under the pressure, promising days of sore muscles and nasty, ugly bruising all over his body.

            Abaddon landed lightly on her feet on the sidewalk, hips swaying as she sauntered toward him. She was grinning like the cat that got the cream and the canary, even as he summoned his sword back in hand.

            “Oh, didn’t anyone tell you?” she asked. Pushing himself to his feet and ignoring the blood running down his temple, Hunter leapt forward, swinging his sword. She avoided the blade, bending with such fluid speed and ease, Hunter realized with sudden horror that she’d only been toying with him as they exchanged blows earlier. Grabbing him by the back of his hair, Abaddon kicked at the back of his knees, forcing him down and his head back, throat exposed. She stroked the back of her fingers down the side of his face, lips pressed close to his ear to whisper, “Hell has their own chosen warriors, their _knights_ to protect the kingdom.”

            He jerked violently away, end of his sword scraping cement as he swung with wild viciousness. He missed her by scant inches. The impossible speed with which she moved made him wish for the axe he’d used to fight with as a child, missing its much longer reach.

            Reaching up, Abaddon swung her arm out and backhanded him, causing the entire side of Hunter’s face to explode in pain; vision whiting out before he again hit the pavement and rolled, more skin and fabric tearing. Sparks flew up as his sword drug across cement. Trembling with pain and exertion, Hunter forced himself to his hands and knees, panting and grimacing, but still firmly gripping the handle of his weapon.

            In the center of the street, Abaddon splayed a hand out toward him, an invisible force yanking the Ordained up by his throat, leaving him dangling and gasping in midair, fingers clawing at his throat trying to free it. She swept her arm down in one swift motion, sending the blond flying through the air, back slamming hard against the brick siding of the building. His vision blacked out as his head made impact.

            Hunter’s eyes flew wide with the shock, not feeling anything at first, even as his vision came partially back, before all the pain wracking his body registered at once and he nearly lost consciousness. He cried out in agony as he was suddenly released and crumpled to a heap on the ground, sword clattering beside him. Blood poured down one side of his face, swelling forcing his right eye shut. Cracking open his good eye, Hunter pushed one shaking hand across the pavement, bloody and bruised fingers nearly brushing the hilt of his sword before a twitch of the red head’s wrist sent it skittering across the pavement beyond reach.

            A breath escaped him in a huff that became another cry of pain, eyes clamping shut as he tried to curl protectively into himself. Things were broken. Lots of things were broken, and one of his arms was numb in a way that was more alarming that the screaming pain covering the rest of his body, or the concussion he knew he had.

            He was fighting against someone way out of his weight class.

            Abaddon idly examined her bright red nails a moment, checking them for damage before sliding her gaze over to where he was struggling.

            He had to get up and away somehow. If she killed him, Sam would automatically become the new Ordained, and even with all their training, neither of them was equipped to take her on.

            Gliding her way over to him, the demon stopped, falling back a step as a shadow fell down in a rush of trench coat and wings.

            Angel landed between the two of them in a crouch, large black wings flared upward in warning, a sword like her own gripped in his hand. Furious eyes snapped up to meet hers, the wrath of Heaven wrapped tight in the form of a human man.

            “You will not hurt the Righteous Man,” he snarled, rising to his feet.

            She lifted one finely arched brow. “Oh? Heaven is actually stepping in to save one of its pets this time- or is it just you?”

            “I am all that is required for taint like you.”

            She threw her head back and laughed, and Hunter didn’t have the air or ability to yell at Angel to run, that she was something _other_ and dangerous, and not even an angel could match her.

            “Oh you can bet your pretty face you have never even _seen_ the likes of me before,” she purred with amusement, voice low and sensual sounding as she continued forward.

            The demon’s movements stopped suddenly, her head whipping to the side as if hearing something neither of them had. Her alert look morphed to an angry glare, full lips pressing together and wilting into a frown at the corners. Sucking in a deep breath, she released it slowly, recomposing her expression to a pleasant smile as her gaze slid to where Hunter was still crumpled on the ground.

            The smile didn’t hide the fury in her eyes. “Your luck just improved. Next time? I’ll get that throne mount,” she promised, before vanishing from sight.

            Hunter sighed in relief, though it sounded more like a sob as he slumped further against the sidewalk. He needed Falcon- needed Sam. He needed a hospital.

            His eyes flew open. Falcon! Falcon had been left alone and had no idea-!

            He struggled, trying to push himself to his hands and knees. Angel moved to kneel beside him, wings tucked in. He made soft sounds of sympathy, maybe to try and sooth the warrior as he curled his arm under Hunter’s shoulders, cradling him in his arms. Hunter hissed and groaned, sucking in sharp breaths between his teeth as every little movement was a new stab of agony.

            “Get Falcon,” he grit out, eyes clamped shut. His teeth were bloody from where he’d bitten into the inside of his cheek, and pain was making his breath come short. Forcing his one good eye open, Hunter looked at the masked angel holding him, trying to convey his desperation. “He could be in trouble. An ambulance can come for me,” he insisted, reaching up to try and grab the lapels of the angel’s coat.

            He stopped when Angel grabbed his wrist. The touch was amazingly gentle and warm.

            “There’s no need,” he said softly, eyes a swirl of conflicting tenderness and fury as they played over the ruins of Hunter’s appearance, the tatters of his uniform, and the blood all across his skin and clothing. He pulled his gaze away, focusing on Hunter’s face. One of the angel’s hands came up to cup the side of the Chosen’s jaw. The blonde thought the remorse he saw could only mean it was already too late, that he was about to die. “I am truly sorry I could not get here sooner. This is my fault.”

            Something other than pain swept through the blond at the contact, washing over his body and pushing down his body’s screaming. It was his eyes that caught Hunter so off guard, raw with emotion and anguish, as if it devastated him to see a human- _this_ human- in such condition.

            “I will not lose you,” he swore, voice and eyes fierce with determination.

 

Blocks away, Falcon’s mounting fear only increased as he continued to fight the blond man detaining him.

            It _wasn’t_ a fight. Not at all. It was a diversion, a tactic to keep him from running after his brother to help.

            The man, unassuming and mysterious as he was, was well beyond the skills Falcon had spent a lifetime honing. The brunette was nearly panting in exhaustion, throwing punches and kicks, using his knives for close-combat and surprise strikes, even used his grappling cable to try and bind the man, but _nothing_ worked. The man systematically disarmed Falcon, plucking the blades away one at a time, and tossing all of them out of reach, the cord along with them.

            “Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself,” he said lowly, tossing the last blade carelessly off to the side, not looking winded or troubled at all by this match that hadn’t paused since the beginning.

            Falcon stumbled away from him, the leather of his gloves giving a soft sound as he raised his arms and curled his hands into fists.

            “Who are you?” he asked, and it came out sounding more like genuine wonder than a demand.

            The stranger angled his head, smile curling at the corner of his mouth as he considered the man in costume and the question he’d presented.

            “You may call me… Nick,” he said finally.

            Falcon glared. “That isn’t your name.”

            Nick shook his head. “It really isn’t, but people don’t seem to actually like my given name. Personally, I find it quite lovely.” His smirk widened to a grin. “Really rolls off the tongue.”

            He stiffened suddenly and spun, faster than Falcon had seen him move the entire fight, and caught an arrow as it sailed through the spot he’d just been standing.

            Night Fox had already notched another arrow, bow pulled taut and glaring from where she stood at the opposite corner. She was illuminated in full costume under the street light, her black and gray hood pulled up over her head, shrouding her masked face in shadow, while strands of her red hair that fell free of the hood glinted in the light.

            Rather than feel relief, Falcon’s blood turned to ice in his veins at how easily Nick had avoided the attack he hadn’t even seen coming, how he had caught the arrow rather than simply avoiding it, and it doing so, possibly saved the brunette’s life who would have been directly in its original trajectory.

            “Falcon!” a voice yelled in the other direction, making both the fighter and Nick turn toward the sound of pounding footsteps. The owner of the voice was unmistakable, but not yet visible.

            Nick sighed, causing the taller male to look at him again. The blond regarded him mournfully. “Out of time. I hope to see you again, Sam.”

            There was a sound like massive wings and a gust of air before he was suddenly gone, vanished from sight. The arrow that had been in his hand clattered to the ground just as Angel and Hunter rounded the corner at full speed. Hunter skidded to a stop looking terrified and then relieved at the sight of his brother unharmed, with no regard for his own appearance, his ruined clothing or the blood covering him and saturating what remained of his costume.

            Falcon ran toward him, eyes raking over his brother’s body, trying to assess where all the blood was coming from, but even with all the ripped and torn fabric that barely preserved a sense of modesty, he couldn’t see _any_ torn flesh, just the beginnings of many ugly bruises.

            That was when Night Fox’s pounding footsteps made Hunter go white as a sheet, eyes widening in horror before anger colored his expression when she reached them.

            “Are you guys okay?” she questioned, panting and looking them both over.

            Nostrils flaring, Hunter took a step toward her. “Us? I told you to go home! You shouldn’t even be _here_! Do you have _any_ _idea_ the danger-“

            She glared, lips pinching as she jabbed her finger at him. “Hey! Blood or no, I am a _member_ of this family, and that means I will do what our family _does_! I am _not_ sitting on the sidelines to save my own bacon! So don’t yell at me, especially when _you_ are the one who clearly got his ass kicked and could have done with that third man of back up-“ Her gaze shifted past Hunter to the masked angel with him. “Which _clearly_ you don’t count as. I thought it was your job to _protect_ the Ordained! That he is your sole responsibility!” She indicated her brother’s appearance with a wild wave of her arm. “Is _this_ your idea of _protection_?”

            “Fox!” exclaimed the blond, stepping between them as the red head got right up in the angel’s face. He pushed her gently back and then ran his hands over the ruin of his outfit, mere blood-soaked rags on his frame. “I’m fine. Angel _did_ help. Freaking saved my life and then worked some kind of miracle to heal my injuries.”

            Beside her, Falcon shook himself as he remembered the madness that had just gone down.

            “Dude! What the _hell_ just happened?” demanded the brunette. “I couldn’t land a punch on that guy and he _caught_ Fox’s arrow and _he knew my name_!” He gestured violently at Hunter’s entire appearance, other hand raking through his hair. “And you! What happened to you?!”

            Shaking his head, Hunter turned to Angel. “She had black eyes. This is your area of expertise. What just happened? Is that _normal_ demon strength, because we are so not equipped for that, _at all_.”

            Blue eyes regarded Falcon, mouth pressed in a hard line and gaze unwavering. “This man,” he began, voice low and purposefully measured, “what did he look like? Did he have black eyes as well? Display any telekinetic powers?”

            The other man wiped a hand over his face. “No. He just… he just looked like a _guy_. He was blond, mid-thirties, blue eyes. The only powers I witnessed were his speed and ability to teleport out of sight. He knew my name though. My _civilian_ name.”

            The angel nodded solemnly, as if this were all expected. “I understand your alarm, and I believe if he had intended you harm, you would be dead. There are creatures that can mind read, or know a person by given name, as names can have power.”

            “Can he use the power of my name against me?”

            “It is more probable he will merely use it as a psychological tactic to throw you off balance.”

            “You think he was taking orders from Abaddon?” questioned Hunter, folding his arms over his chest. His hair tousled wildly around his head in the breeze.

Angel looked at him sharply. “Who did you say?”

            “The redhead. Abaddon. She said something about Hell having its own Cho- what?” he asked, concern renewed as the man in the trench coat stiffened, face paling. “What is it?”

            “If she is who she claims to be,” Angel said carefully, “then she is _very_ dangerous.” Hunter bit his tongue, restraining from snapping back with a sarcastic ‘Yeah, I got that from the ass kicking she just gave me, thanks.’ The sight of the angel rattled was unnerving, making his heart pound in fear all over again. “Abaddon is a Knight of Hell, and was at one point Lucifer’s own right hand. They are the strongest warriors Hell has at their disposal.” He shook his head. “If we are dealing with a Knight of Hell, then the situation has already escalated far beyond what I imagined. The demonic presence in town, plus Abaddon's involvement can only suggest that they are planning to open the gate the Hell that is beneath this city."

            Blood draining from his face, Hunter missed way Night Fox threw a hand over her mouth with a gasp, didn't see the way Falcon's eyes widened in horror. He threw up a hand. "A hell gate? They want to  _open_ a hell gate?" He spluttered, mouth opening and closing as his hands futilely grasped at empty air.

            Angel inclined his head gravely. "They would be opening Lucifer's cage, more precisely, but yes, the gate would be open to all of Hell as well."

            Fearing the answer, Hunter questioned, in a voice far calmer than he felt, "The same hell gate Joan of Arc had to swan dive into for it to close again?"

            The other man's gaze slid away guiltily, before he nodded again. Beside him, Falcon swore.

            Straightening, Angel regarded them again. "Heaven will need to be informed. Perhaps they will see fit to intervene in this matter.” He looked at Hunter, gaze steady. “I will contact you when I know more,” he promised, one hand reaching out to touch softly at the blond’s arm.

            Then he was gone.

            Night Fox glanced around and up. “How does he do that?” she questioned, while Hunter felt a shiver run down his spine and heaved a sigh, suddenly exhausted. He rubbed a hand over his face.

            This? This was a battle reserved for the armies of Heaven and Hell, not three humans just setting out to find their own place in the world.

            “We are so out of our league on this,” he groaned, hand dropping to his side. He let his head fall back to regard the night sky and the scattering of stars and constellations.

            The last time there was a recorded war between Heaven and Hell, it had been the first of the Chosen, the first Ordained, that put an end to it- at the cost of her own life and a huge number of her army. What they knew about that event in history was more legend than fact, and centuries later still shrouded in mystery, and now, it looked to be trying to repeat itself, this time with Dean sacrificing himself for the sake of mankind if the gate opened.

            He sighed and rubbed at his eyes again. “We’re gonna need to do research. _Lots_ of research.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  

Chapter Five

 

            They locked themselves away in the boys’ room to do research, forgoing sleep save for short naps brought on by complete exhaustion, more accident than intent, while living off coffee and take-out. The runs for food were just that, practically sneaking out of the dorm room and back as soon as possible, head down and avoiding eye contact. Several times Gilda came by, bringing food as an excuse to check in on them, expression worried at she took in the dark shadows under the siblings' eyes from lack of sleep, the visible bruising from supposed sparring sessions at the gym. She would try to coax Charlie back to their room with her, to take a break and sleep in her own bed for a while. After enough times of being turned away with murmured apologies, she eventually stopped trying.

            Dean took to wearing one of Sam’s hoodies all the time, using it to try and hide the remaining evidence of his - of _Hunter’s_ fight with Abaddon. His bones were unbroken and injuries healed, but the ugly bruising from head-to-toe remained, and he was the one least able to leave the room the majority of the time.

            At night, they were still donning their costumes and going out to protect the city. Their run-in with Abaddon and Nick had shaken them though. Never had they been so utterly outmatched, never had Hunter been so out-classed he’d faced certain death. It had taken a _miracle_ to save him from his injuries.

            Stress and sleep deprivation were affecting their nighttime patrols, making them sloppy and careless, leading to more injuries as a sort of full moon frenzy overcame the monsters of the surrounding area, and more of them flocked to the same town Hell seemed set on moving into. One of Charlie’s shoulder blades and part of her back were covered in molten bruising and scrapes from when a werewolf tossed her into the trunk of a tree. Sam’s jaw had a series of butterfly stitches, his entire body sore and banged up from a roll down a sharp incline grappling with a vampire.

            The increased monster and demonic activity in town were par for the course according to research. Sometimes the demons were just out to wreak havoc and destruction- the lesser demons summoned by witches. The demons that were organized were the ones they needed to fear. They were capable, and often rallied many other species of the supernatural to their fight through sheer bloodlust calling.

            None of the research showed any signs of demons prior to their full-scale attempt at their ultimate agenda, which was generally trying to unleash Hell on earth. For centuries, the minions had raised armies of monsters and attempted to rip open the door between worlds, and for every attempt, the Chosen and their allies always stopped them at great cost.

            The Ordained always died. Demons always came close, so close to actually doing what they set out to accomplish, and the Ordained always died trying to stop them, either in fighting against a Knight of Hell- Dean had been horrified to know there was possibly more than one- or by overwhelming odds and numbers.

The gate had only opened once. While her soldiers were locked in battle all around her, Joan had fought and clawed her way to the edge of the portal, a spirally inferno leading down into the deepest reaches of Hell, and flung herself into it. Her sacrifice had closed the portal and saved the world.

            Dean had grown up being taught about the Chosen line and all the Ordained that had come before him: his mother, great aunt, great grandmother, and so-on back to Joan, but he’d never really known. Knew the majority of them and their allies died in battle, always written in those exact terms, but the reason behind it, the reality had never hit so close to home before.

            The past had never been their reality until now.

\--

            They all started with surprise the night someone knocked on the door to Sam and Dean’s room, blinking and frowning in confusion as the world outside reminded them of its existence. Dean rose, setting his book aside and running his hands over the front of Sam’s hoodie, suddenly conscious that he hadn’t showered that morning. Since the night with Abaddon, Dean had a taken to wearing his brother’s too large hoodie and even his over-sized sweatpants like they a security blanket that would keep him safe, while hiding the evidence of how close to death he’d come.

            Cas stood awkwardly in the hall outside their room, shifting lightly on his feet and looking uncertain when the blond peeked out the door, feeling relief and pain at the sight of the other man.

            When the door opened, Cas looked up sharply, shoulders relaxing in relief as Dean stepped out and turned to face him, door shut behind him.

            The small smile that had appeared, disappeared as soon as he saw Dean clearly. “Oh my g-“ Cas gasped, eyes widening as the saw the blond’s face. One of his hands rose, fingertips barely grazing the fading bruises coloring the entire side of Dean’s face, the way his cheeks had hollowed from weight loss and he looked pale and sickly, swallowed in Sam’s hoodie as he was. Curling his fingers, Castiel withdrew his hand, letting his arm fall slack by his side. “I was worried,” he said finally, lowering his gaze. “The three of you are nearly ghosts on campus. You’ve missed all your classes; I’ve only caught glimpses of one of you as you snuck back with food like some teenager after curfew.” Opening his mouth, he faltered and shook his head, before lifting his blue gaze to meet Dean’s. “Talk to me,” he pleaded, eyes filled with concern. Dean apparently looked worse than he’d thought. “Is there some way I can help?”

            It was stress and lack of sleep that made Dean’s eyes prick with tears at the gesture, he told himself, that made him want to reach out and wrap his arms around his friend and hold on. It was the same stress and sense of being overwhelmed that made him want to jump in the Impala and go home, feeling like a scared kid whose mother would know how to fix everything, just like she always had.

            “No,” he heard himself reply, voice monotone as the spark of hope in Cas’ eyes dimmed and faded away. He continued automatically, giving the same rehearsed excuses they’d given the school. “We’ve had a bunch of personal things come up regarding our family and the family business; we’ve recently had to step in and oversee it since there is no one else to manage this responsibility.”

            “What about classes?”

            Dean nodded. “Right now they are being handled, what we’re not in class for is being set aside, and we can catch up later.” He paused and offered a sardonic smile that wasn’t more than a quirk of his lips. “Truth be told, I’m not sure we’re going to survive the year. We might need to drop out in order to handle all of this other stuff, so we can actually focus our attention. School comes second.”

            Castiel’s shoulders slumped, entire body sagging at the words. He dropped his gaze. “Oh.” He paused, brows furrowed together and tongue darting across his lip. “I had hoped-“ He shook himself, raising his gaze to meet Dean’s again with a demeanor shift that was odd enough to make it through the shell shocked part of his mind. “I’m very sorry to hear that. This- meeting you was worth the fight.”

            It was odd to say, but Dean couldn’t place exactly what about it was so wrong. Maybe that there felt like layers of things unsaid behind the sentence, things Dean didn’t know about or-

            Dean was forced to break eye contact as his brain registered part of what the other man was saying. He looked away, wiping a hand over his eyes.

            “Don’t say that, man. This isn’t ‘good-bye,’ not yet.” He reached out to clasp a hand on the other man’s shoulder. “I’m just under a lot of outside stress, and right now things really don’t look good.”

            He dropped his hand, letting it graze down the sleeve of Cas’ hoodie, surprised when Cas caught it in his own, fingers curling around Dean’s palm and making the blond’s stomach flip.

            When the shorter man stroked his thumb over the back of Dean’s hand, the blond wrapped his fingers around his, broken expression studying the earnest and pained look on Castiel’s face as the other man promised, “I will do _whatever I can_ to help you.”

            Giving his fingers a squeeze, Dean offered him a sad smile and let his hand fall away. “It’s nothing you can help with.” He backed up until he was nearly pressed against the door, growing slowly desperate to escape before his thin defenses crumbled and he fell apart. He swallowed thickly. “I should go. I’ll see you around, Cas,” he promised, before opening the door and slipping inside.

            Both his brother and sister looked up from their books as the door opened, Dean trying to keep his face shrouded and away from them as he began to crack and break. His hand struck out blindly and hit the light switch, casting the room into dim light and shadows as he slid down the door to sit. Drawing his knees up, he lay his forehead on his arms, struggling to breathe.

            He was losing everything. Everything he’d wanted and pulled for, fought for. A semi-regular life, the college experience, being and feeling like a normal person for once.

            He was going to lose Cas without ever getting to ask him out. Not only was he losing the romantic possibility with the man, but he was losing the friendship they’d established, the easy camaraderie, of making each other laugh and talking back and forth about the vastly different worlds they both came from. Dean had seen the grieved expression on the other man’s face. It had felt like the closing of a book, some horrendously unfair ending that cut the story short and left it incomplete feeling.

            Then, they all died. The End.

            Taking in a shuddering breath, Dean lifted his head, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes, nose stinging and throat tight.

            “Has anyone in our line ever gotten a happy ending?” he questioned the two people kindly allowing him a moment. “Or do they all die young and bloody?”

            It was silent for a long moment, both siblings looking at each other as they mentally went through every Ordained since the first.

            Sam looked over at him through the darkness. “I think Mom would say she got a happy ending.” He smiled sadly. “She’s still got us, after all.”

            He didn’t say she was the longest surviving Ordained to date as well. That if they failed, that would change, that even were there ever files on any of them, they would read same as all the others.

            Died in battle.

            Hands covering his face, a wobbly smile spread across Dean’s face, even as tears silently trekked down his cheeks.

 

\-- 

It was dark and all the shops were closed when Dean made his way back over to the alley and storefront where they’d first seen Abaddon. Hands in the pockets of Sam’s jacket, Dean made his way down the sidewalk and across the street, expression set in hard lines as his mind whirled.

            They came back to this same location the day after their run in with the demon knight, only to find all evidence of the vandalism gone. Not painted over or removed. Gone like it had never happened. They’d used black lights, chemical testing, EMF, and everything else they could think of to no avail.

            The building looked picturesque and whole. The entire block did. No one would imagine three warriors had fought a losing battle there. That Hunter had been tossed around like a rag doll, thrown into a brick wall so hard bones had fractured and broken, that his had skull had been shattered, causing fluid and pressure to begin building inside his spider web cracked skull, pressing on his brain. They would never know an angel had placed himself between a mortal and a demon and held his ground, that an angel worked a miracle with a touch, and that was the only reason Hunter wasn’t in the hospital hooked up to machines that were keeping him alive.

            His body wouldn’t have turned back to his normal form with that kind of damage. Doing so would have instantly killed him, and his injuries were more than his normal human body could have withstood. He’d survived because he’d been Hunter rather than Dean; because Angel had vehemently refused to let him die.

            He was alive, and the sigils were gone, and they’d run into yet another dead end with their research.

            Sucking in a deep breath, Dean placed his hand over the sigil hidden under his clothing, feeling the change take place between the space of a blink, magic and air shooting up from the ground at his feet. His hair and clothes shifted and resettled. Then, he waited.

            It was several minutes before he heard the gentle swish of fabric, the soft fold of feathers, and shoes landing lightly on the ground. Hunter didn’t turn his head to regard him, just continued to stand with his arms folded as he considered the wall.

            “I had a feeling we were somehow linked,” he offered conversationally, before sliding his gaze sideways. "What is Heaven planning to do about Abaddon and the hell gate?"

            In the yellow glow of the street lamp, Angel shook his head. "Nothing." Hunter's head snapped around to look at him in shock, but the angel wasn't looking at him. "The Council voted and-"

            "The Council?"

            "The Angelic Council of Human Affairs," explained the taller man. "As humanity is our responsibility to look after, no one angel has the power to decide what befalls them. We created-" Suddenly growing frustrated, he snorted and waved a hand, as if batting the thought away like an insect. "Nevermind. I have nothing to offer you, Hunter. Despite the angels that voiced their support for the idea of Heaven involving itself in the current crisis, the plan was rejected by the majority vote, with the argument that such a threat was the reason Michael created the Ordained and Chosen bloodline to begin with. Anna, my sister, assures me she will continue to try and persuade the Council on our behalf, but she is among only a few sympathizers. Aside from that, I have no new information to offer you, though I have searched." His frown deepened as he paused. "I’m sorry.”

            He knew the celestial warrior meant it, that apparently he was running into as many dead ends as they were, and it grieved him to not have answers or a solution to offer them.

            The blond regarded him closely. He figured in his male form, the two of them were about the same height. As Hunter, Angel was taller that he was, though not as tall as Sam. Then again, nobody was as tall as Sam.

            “You have plenty to offer, Angel,” Hunter told him, using one gloved arm to indicate the brick wall. “Like, for starters, where did the paint go? What did she paint? Whatever it did, I can still _feel_ it in this form, like a constant low-thrum of electricity just shy of being painful to the touch. Also? _Me_ touching the wall? Bad.”

            He’d had to bandage his fingertips after the first time. Getting injured wasn’t the weird part. It was weird that both Falcon and Night Fox has touched the wall and not been injured. They’d experimented with it a bit just to be sure it was only Hunter that couldn’t touch the wall. _Dean_ could though, just like Sam and Charlie.

            The angel continued to regard the wall, eyes trailing over the bricks in a way that made Hunter believe he could see what the blond could only sense.

            “That is because you are the exact opposite of what the runes are. They are a creation of Hell and serve a demonic purpose. You are righteousness incarnate; you are light to its dark. You are holy, as is your cause.” Hunter snorted at the description, but the other man ignored him. “I do not know what the runes say or what their purpose is. If Abaddon is involved, her only goal would be to break the seals and open the gate to hell that is below the city. She must have been among those that escaped being trapped when Joan originally stopped Hell’s efforts.”

            A derisive snort escaped the angel, and he made an angry gesture with his hand, jerking his gaze away. “Heaven doesn’t even know how to break the seals and release Lucifer. Michael knows, but he is in stasis directing all the angels of Heaven and communicating with God. It’s not possible to even speak to him. He cannot see nor hear anything that is actually going on around him. To make matters worse, I will not be able to train you like I wanted; we do not have the time.” He turned his head, intent gaze finding and locking with Hunter’s as he straightened with resolve. “But you _are_ the Righteous Man, and I believe that may well be enough. Titles are rare and only those meant to achieve great things are born with them.”

            Narrowing his eyes, Hunter considered the angel, from his messy hair and disheveled clothes, the wings almost invisible in the darkness, the mask covering almost half his face and making his inhuman blue eyes more piercing than ever. It was the earnestness in those eyes, the memory of barely contained rage directed toward Abaddon, then the pained look on his face when Hunter had been broken and in agony in his arms that gave the blond pause.

            “What does that even mean? How much do you know about me?” he asked the angel carefully. “Do they just give you a file when we strike out on our own or-“

            “Having a title means that you are destined for greatness, despite whatever hardships you face. It means that your soul is so _very_ _bright_ it pales all others in comparison. I have been protecting you, Hunter- though unseen- for a very long time,” Angel admitted gravely. “When Michael created the Chosen bloodline and the first Ordained, every potential Ordained, from the first to the end, was granted an angel that would be perfectly matched with them, a connection made between a human soul and an angel's grace well before the child is ever born. Even the angels are unaware of this selection until the day a new Ordained in born. You and I are connected." He lifted his head to regard the night sky and smattering of stars. "Somewhere, there is an angel already irreparably bound to you brother, the bond waiting to be awoken should he ever become the Ordained." His gaze fell and he regarded Hunter again. "Since you were a child fighting alongside your mother, I was there. The moment you, The Righteous Man, were born, you were granted a Guardian who's sole purpose was to look after and protect you. I was the angel honored with the duty of keeping you safe, of protecting you so that you may fulfill all I know you are capable of.”

            Hunter flushed and looked away from the intense sincerity in those eyes, the idea that this creature had been guarding him since he’d first stepped into battle along with his mother, back when he’d been all frills, ribbons, and lace, armed with an axe as wicked as his grin. Fighting monsters, being a warrior, it had all been as exciting as it was terrifying, but as first-born to his generation, it was his duty to fight those battles others could not, in order to protect Sammy, in order to protect other children and people who could not fight the battles they could.

            And all those years, all those battles, this angel had been protecting him.

            Protecting Hunter was more than a mission to Angel, more than another assignment. As gruff and pushy as he’d been at the first, he cared. He cared _a lot_.

            Hunter sighed heavily. Rather than feeling relieved by this new insight, he suddenly just felt weary and missed getting to hang out with Cas. He missed when he’d had a friend as well as allies.

\--

 

The sun wasn’t even up yet when Dean knocked on the door to Cas’ room, grinning when the rumpled and confused man opened the door and blinked out at him. He was wearing a faded Captain America shirt and sweat pants.

            All three Winchesters had chipped in and bought the shirt for him on the promise that Cas would wear it in front of his family, then come back and tell them if anyone started convulsing or foaming at the mouth to see him wearing something from the outside world and actually knowing what it was. Dean had been the one to give him the shirt, and it made him smile to see him wearing it, made something warm and possessive stir in his chest.

            Sleepy and confused Cas just made the whole picture better. Dean wished he had a camera.

            “Wha-? Dean?” He shook himself, at first brightening in surprise, before his expression filled with dread, fingers tightening on the door frame. “Is everything alright?”

            Rolling his now empty coffee cup between his hands, Dean nodded. “Yep. I’ve decided that if I’m going to have any social time, it’s gonna call for a schedule shift.” He jerked his head in the direction of the Exit. “I know you’re kind of an early bird, too, so I didn’t think you’d be too mad. C’mon. I’m taking you to breakfast.”

            The darker haired male nodded. “Yes, yes, just- let me dress.”

            Dean waved him off and motioned to his own clothes for his jog later. He was in his own jogging pants and hoodie this time, at least, but felt exposed and vulnerable for it.

            “Just put some shoes on,” he coaxed, grinning and leaning against the doorframe. “Nobody cares. Sun’s not even up yet.”

            A smile spread across Castiel’s feature, a touch of gums to the look that had Dean smiling wider in return as the other man’s form relaxed in relief before he nodded and darted over to his bed for his shoes. Dean relaxed as well, beating back the voice that was screaming he didn’t have the time to spare for this, that he was in danger and time was running out. His stomach flipped when Cas looked at him again, and he could feel all the tension melt out of his shoulders as his friend hurried to stand beside him so that they could go to breakfast together.

            Maybe he _could_ somehow manage to do all of it. With enough coffee.

            They went to the 24-hour diner and ordered breakfast, Dean asking for new cup of hot coffee as soon as they slid into opposite sides of their booth. Once their food had been brought out and Dean was half-way through his caffeinated drink, Cas ducked his head, waiting until they locked eyes and he had Dean’s full attention before speaking.

            “How are you, Dean?” he questioned, eyes playing over the blond’s face, brows drawn together. “With everything going on at the moment, how are you coping and holding up?”

            The blond stiffened. His grip on the cup would have made it shatter under the pressure if he’d been in his other form. Castiel didn’t seem to notice, just picked up the pot of coffee and refilled Dean’s ugly mug for him as he continued to speak.

            “I know you and your siblings have been keeping strange hours trying to do everything you have going on.” He set the pot aside and slid the sugar closer. “You’re juggling classes and homework, your family business, and you’re still keeping up your fitness routine. You are under so much pressure right now, and I feel impotent and useless, because I know of no way to help you shoulder your burden, yet you continue to sacrifice.” Blue eyes met his. “I know we are only able to have breakfast together because you are sacrificing time you could be sleeping instead,” he said gently, before reaching up to trace under one of his own eyes with the end of his middle finger. “You have shadows under your eyes, Dean.”

            Stirring sugar into his coffee, Dean offered him a crooked smile. Too tired for false cockiness, he simply said, “Sleep can wait. This is more important.”

            Because it was. It really was.

 

 

\--

Eventually, Garth called them about the sudden spike in violent crimes around town.

            “I’ve seen a lot of things,” he said over the phone, “especially during my time as a hunter or on a full moon volunteering at the homeless shelter, but I have never seen things get this bad. Even the regular cops are taking notice. Guys, we have to do something, give me something to work with here. The sheriff is a good woman who wants to protect people from any threat to their safety. You do _not_ want them increasing the number of uniforms out on patrol every night because she has no other option.”

            They met him on the roof of the police headquarters, the skinny man leaning on his cane as he regarded the four vigilantes, eyes roving over their costumes and masks.

            Hunter stood stiffly, a practiced serious expression on his face that revealed nothing of the sudden insecurity he was feeling. They wore costumes, yes, but rarely did they reveal themselves to people or meet new faces in them. Getting mocked always stung, no matter who you were or what you were capable of, and he wasn’t really sure what Garth’s reaction was. Too many things flitted over his face as he saw all four of them at once, then took them in one at a time. Angel seemed unconcerned with the whole thing, impatient to be on the move, instead.

            “As much as regular hunters probably ought to wear hero costumes like the lot of you, or at least masks, can’t say they’d pull it off nearly so well.” He hobbled forward, his metallic pink cane gleaming in the moonlight as he switched it to his left side in order to offer out his hand to Hunter. “Pleasure to finally meet ya. Name’s Garth. I was a hunter myself before a crossbow misfire and an arrow to the knee.” He happily shook all their hands while talking. “Lucky for me, Bobby- he’s the unofficial head of the hunter community- well, he’s good people first and foremost, but he also knew some people, and they got me in with the Letters.”  Hunter bit back a smile. It had been typical of Uncle Bobby to try and find some other place for the injured hunter so he could still help save lives, even if from a supportive role. “I can still be helpful,” Garth insisted, motioning down to his leg, “though not so much recently, since I have no idea what’s going on.”

            Switching his cane again, Garth adjusted his police cap and grew serious. “The LARP thing works like a charm, but the crime spike is still getting noticed and I need to know what to expect and how to handle it. You gotta give me and the Sheriff _something_ if you expect us to keep cops out of your hair and outta harm’s way.”

            They filled him in as best they could, what with demons and Knights of Hell having moved in trying to blow this particular town’s lid off Hell. They also warned him cops weren’t properly armed with weapons that could fight Hell’s soldiers, that they were unable to know when or where demons would strike next.

            Shaking his head, Falcon concluded, “We’re going to have to split into two groups. It’s more dangerous if we run into trouble, but we can get more done. Each pair covers one part of town or campus.” He ran a hand through his hair, chocolate strands slipping between his fingers as his gaze drifted over the neighboring buildings. “We’ll cover more ground.”

            Angel nodded. “Very well. Hunter and I will take the business districts and cemetery. You and Night Fox can handle the park and neighboring residential areas tonight. We can-“

            The taller man stiffened, jaw tightening as his eyes narrowed to a glare. “What? No. I’ll go with Hunter-“

            He hadn’t forgiven the angel for letting Hunter get into the danger he had last time they’d faced Abaddon.

            Night Fox whirled. “And leave me not only behind, but with the strange man in a trench coat? Stranger danger!” Angel looked more confused than offended by this, while Garth suddenly coughed into his hand and had to turn away. “Plus, he can flit off when it suits him,” she accused with a dark look of annoyance.

            Hunter waved a hand while Garth watched silently, gaze flicking to each person as they spoke.

            “Not really any room for argument, guys,” he told his siblings, before motioning to the celestial warrior. “Angel is assigned to look after me. He _won’t_ go with one of you. Also, he’s supposed to be training me, remember?” Both his brother and sister crossed their arms unhappily. He already knew they were mentally recalling what happened last time as reason not to trust Angel. It was odd how he was now the only one on the other man’s side. “It’ll be fine. We patrol till midnight, then try to get in at least four hours of sleep, okay?” This made Garth’s brows shoot up in surprise, and he whistled with a shake of his head. Begrudgingly, both Falcon and Night Fox gave a curt nod. Hunter regarded Garth. “You get any more bodies, call us first. We’ll take a look and go from there. Call MoL and they can fake you some dispatch call recordings to help cover tracks. Any calls about fights in alleys or anywhere: lie. Say it was an animal control call about raccoons and big dogs. Anything big comes through the lines, you call us first though.” He pointedly looked at each of their faces. “Okay?”

            They nodded and all turned, Garth toward the roof entrance, Hunter and Angel to the roof’s ledge, while Falcon and Night Fox moved to the fire escape.

            Hunter and Angel made it to the cemetery before either of them spoke. Hunter, naturally, was the one to break the silence.

            “Why are things different for us?” he questioned, checking the doors on a mausoleum. The angel glanced at him over his shoulder. “I’m guessing you can sense when I transform-“

            “I can.”

            “-and have some sort of radar that lets you find me,” he continued, Angel not arguing or disagreeing. “But why are we different? You said most angels or Guardians protect from a distance, that the initial, obligatory meeting is generally the only interaction between an angel and Ordained. Why are we different? Why are you here, fighting beside me?” he asked, sounding more sincere than he meant to.

            It had been something that niggled at the back of his mind for a while, a curiosity that he couldn’t shake, but then as time went on, the answer started to matter.

            He wanted to ask why it felt natural that they fought beside each other, why when he’d been facing down Abaddon, it had been Angel that he’d wanted to call out for and had been relieved to see. Why, even though he knew Angel had no answers to offer, Hunter still felt better having him nearby, as if the Heavenly warrior had stepped in to fill a void Hunter had previously been unaware of having. That when the angel was gone, the void was achingly obvious.

            Angel rose from where he’d been crouched, closing the space between them so he could place his hands on the blond’s shoulders.

            “I was created specifically for you, to look after and protect the Righteous Man. Our destinies are tied.” His eyes played over Hunter’s face, the multitude of green in his eyes, the freckles darting across his nose and cheeks. “I have watched you grow, seen you become an accomplished warrior. I have seen your soul, and it is _beautiful_. We are different from others because you inspired an angel to want to fight by your side. You do not know the countless times you’ve looked directly at me and seen right through me. That I heard you speak, but not to me. My choice is considered taboo, but I did it regardless.”

            Stiffening, Hunter leaned back, turning his head to eye the other man with sudden apprehension. He removed himself from the angel’s touch, shaking his head.

            “You don’t just mean you’ve looked after ‘Hunter’… do you?” Brows drawn together, the blond gestured to his face. “You know who I am behind the ‘mask’, as it were, don’t you?” The angel stiffened and hesitated, before giving a slow, careful nod, eyes tracking the Ordained. Hunter could feel the blood draining from his face, stepping back. “Falcon and Night Fox, too?”

            Angel carefully lifted his hands, palms open and voice calm as he spoke, “Please, do not be alarmed. You’ve no need to fear for yourself or your siblings. Your identities are safe with me.”

            “But _how_? I’m- I look like a girl!”

            A fond smile crossed the other man’s lips. “I would know you even if I were deaf and blind. My place is by your side.”

            “And Fox? Falcon?”

            “I will fight to protect them as much as I would you.”

            Hunter motioned between them with one hand. “And the fighting by my side thing? That really doesn’t happen much?”

            Shaking his head, Angel turned away. “Your lives are brief and fleeting by comparison. Many of the Host have fought wars- fought _battles_ \- that lasted longer than the average Ordained’s lifespan. There is a rift between our people most do not seek to cross.” Pivoting, blue eyes landed on him again. “My… attachment to you is not well-received by many of my siblings, and I have often been reminded you are one in a line of many. It is taboo to care. All the more, this made me wish to be by your side. To ensure you would be safe and not follow the tragic pattern of so many others. It’s why I came to Earth- despite their protests.” Running a hand over his face, Angel faltered, fingers tracing the edge of his mask, expression contemplative. “Hunter, I-“ he caught himself and let his hand fall away with a shake of his head. “I have not done enough to protect you; have allowed myself to be distracted from my true purpose by my own petty desires,” he said finally. “It ends. Now.” He straightened, eyes hardening with resolve. “Come. We have work to do.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  

Chapter Six

 

            Their nights became a focus of patrolling and training with Angel. Difficult training sessions that left Hunter more exhausted and in pain than the fights with monsters and demons did. Angel may have healed his injuries, but that didn’t erase the half-circles under his eyes. It didn’t stop the weight loss from stress and irregular eating that seemed to make Angel’s frown a little more prominent every time Hunter saw him.

            Their days were spent trying to keep some semblance of a normal life, to keep up with classes and pursue relationships with select people. It was these stolen moments that were keeping all three of them sane.

            Sam made a coffee run one night, only to bump into Sarah, and for the two of them to walk back together talking and making the other one laugh. Sam had come back to the room practically with stars in his eyes, unable to get the grin off his face or stop humming contentedly, even when Dean or Charlie teased him about it.

            Not that Charlie was any better. She and Gilda had finally gotten together as well. They may have been roommates, but her brothers saw her far more often than her new girlfriend did. The two of them had to steal away moments for themselves between classes, just long enough to grab a meal together or get a coffee. Gilda was always asleep on the rare nights Charlie actually made it back to their dorm room, and was always gone again before the other girl ever woke up.

            Dean couldn’t begrudge either of them for being happy. Even as their relationships took off, he felt like his was falling apart before it began.

            Castiel was rarely available to get breakfast, or any meal, with Dean anymore. He looked as stressed and anxious as Dean felt. Apparently, classes and family in-fighting were taking their toll on him, and he in turn, kept himself closed away in his room studying, unable to even go with Dean for a quick breakfast or coffee.

            The door would slowly open to reveal a haggard Cas peering out, smile curling the corner of his mouth despite the stress he was under. He never came out of the room, though.

            Dressed in the clothes for his morning jog, Dean knocked on the door to Cas’ room, shifting on his feet with a coffee and pastry bag in hand while waiting.

            The scowl on Cas’ expression softened as he opened the door, then morphed into one of regret. Over his shoulder, Dean could see books and papers covering what little of the bed he could see. They appeared ancient and hand-written, making him frown.

            “Dean,” greeted Cas, distracting him from the books and to the other man giving him an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, but I-“

            The blond nodded. “Don’t have time to go out to breakfast, no, I know,” he said, before holding out the food items. “So I brought them to you instead in the hope you eat them.” He didn’t think about how he’d only eaten half of his own muffin before throwing it away with distaste, everything unappetizing to him lately. Blue eyes widened in surprise, rising to meet Dean’s as he accepted the proffered items uncertainly. Flushing, the taller male scratched the back of his head. “It’s just coffee and a muffin, but y’know,” he huffed with embarrassment and broke eye contact, examining the toes of his shoes and Cas’ socked feet, “most important meal of the day and all that.”

            The other man was staring at the items with a sort of awe, that same look of wonder on his face when he looked back at Dean and their eyes met, making the blond’s breath catch. Gaze falling to the man’s mouth, Dean mentally threw caution to the wind, nimble fingers plucking at the front of Cas’ shirt as Dean leaned in, pausing for only a second before pressing their mouths together in a gentle touch of lips. He lingered a moment before pulling away, heart hammering.

            Cas’ entire demeanor and posture had softened when Dean looked back at him. The other man’s lips were curling in a smile Cas probably wasn’t conscious of. His eyes were warm when they met Dean’s again, and it was gratifying to see.

            “Thank you for breakfast, Dean.” His smile widened, head angling as he regarded the eldest Winchester fondly. “I appreciate it. You’ve once again come to my aid unbidden.”

            Trying to bite back a grin, Dean dropped his gaze, ears and neck still flushed red. “Yeah, well, swooping in to save the day is kind of my thing,” he chuckled.

            Cas didn’t respond to that, instead stiffened, eyes suddenly looking as though he’d been caught doing wrong, and he lowered his gaze guiltily. Taking a step back into his room, Castiel inclined his head politely.

            “Try to get more sleep, Dean. And good luck with your studies,” he offered softly in way of good-bye before nudging the door closed with a click.

 

 

\--

            Cas didn’t open the door again after that. He didn’t answer Dean’s calls or reply to his texts, either.

\--

 

 

            The breaking point came one night while they were all patrolling the cemetery and fighting demons that had been attempting to desecrate the grounds with animal sacrifice and black magic in order to break one of the seals keeping the hell gate closed.

            Hunter went blind with all of his pent up rage, hair falling around his face as he attacked and straddled a demon on the ground, before just _unleashing_ on them, continuously punching the bloody, swollen face, unable to hear Falcon yelling at him to stop, unable to hear anything over the roaring of blood in his ears. He just kept throwing punches without mercy, blood flecking the leather of his gloves.

            He didn’t stop until Angel grabbed him by the collars of his uniform and tossed him to the ground. Night Fox had a hand over her mouth, eyes wide, while Falcon took an aborted step forward, faltered, and turned his face away from their brother.

            Teeth clenched, the blond was on his feet in a second, mindless with rage as he launched himself at Angel with wild swings and furious accusations he was only half-aware he was the one shouting. It registered distantly that he was the one that had been screaming that whole time.

            Now, his anger and frustration had a new target. “This is all _your_ fault! None of this started till the night you showed up! This was supposed to be a new start, a chance at a semblance of normal!” Angel easily dodged or knocked away each of the attacks, even with the major improvement Hunter had managed in such a short time. The angel carefully moved in a defensive manner as Hunter continued to pursue and attack, all rationality lost. “Because of your bullshit war the dicksquad upstairs won’t fight themselves, _I’m_ gonna lose _everything_ and _die_ in the process!”

            Mouth set, Angel caught Hunter’s wrist on the next swing, then the other one, gripping them tightly and giving the warrior a shake, eyes narrowed.

            “ _Hunter_ ,” he said in low reprimand.

            Heaving for air, the blond continued to try jerking or pulling away, swearing angrily when the angel’s stone-like grip didn’t falter, even with Hunter’s inhuman strength and enhanced abilities. Finally, the blond hung his head, fists slowly uncurling as all the fight seemed to seep out of his body. Angel released him. With a sob, Hunter sank to his knees and then sat back on the grass, gloved hands between his thighs as he stared at his empty palms, the image significant somehow, as if it represented his life, or held all the answers to his current problems.

            Kneeling carefully beside him, Angel slowly extended a hand. The other masked heroes kept their distance and watched carefully. As the angel moved to brush a hand comfortingly over Hunter’s hair, he froze just as he heard the soft, “I didn’t even get to ask him out.”

            Eyes widening a fraction, Angel’s whole body stiffened, before he softened sympathetically, laying one outstretched hand on golden hair. “Hunter, I…”

            Head jerking up sharply, Hunter smacked the hand away, broken expression angry and vicious again.

            “Don’t touch me,” he snarled. “Unless Heaven actually has something useful to offer in order to fix this mess, stay away from me.”

            Shoving to his feet, the Ordained turned and stormed away, the air shifting his hair and pulling at his skirt and bow.

            Hesitantly, both Night Fox and Falcon turned to follow, the archer casting a worried look at Angel as she adjusted her weapon.

            It seemed wrong to just _leave_ when an angel of the Lord was standing there with his head lowered, looking so hurt and defeated.

 

\--

            Cas still wouldn’t answer the door when Dean knocked. The blond’s list of texts remained unanswered.

\--

 

            Angel didn’t show up the next time they went out on patrol. Falcon went alone while Hunter and Night Fox dealt with a couple of vampires that had rolled into town that week and were targeting people at the one night club nearby.

            Having already scoured the campus and park, Falcon moved to the shopping district, running across rooftops and lurking in shadows as sharp eyes searched for anything out of the ordinary.

            Other than stopping a Breaking and Entering, he didn’t find anything in any of the alleys or back roads, prompting him on to the cemetery next. Twice, they’d stopped demons from performing a ritual there, and once, a coven of witches, so they tried to keep a close eye on it for trouble. That included occasionally scaring off under-aged kids who thought it would be a cool place to hang out after curfew, smoking stolen cigarettes and drinking their parent’s beer.

            Falcon was glad they were always the ones to find the kids. The last thing they needed was for something to happen to happen to them that would desecrate the ground of the cemetery, or for the lifeblood of the living and innocent to be sacrificed so an army of the undead could be raised.

            They had never come across actual zombies before- a fact that pained both Hunter and Fox to no end- but Falcon was keen to keep things that way.

            “Hello, Sam.”

            Falcon threw the knife as he spun around to face the drawling velvety voice.

            Sitting on the ledge of a mausoleum, Nick caught the blade between his fore and middle fingers as the brunette growled, “My _name_ is _Falcon_.”

            With a bemused smile, Nick turned his attention to the blade in his hand, regarding both sides of the knife.

            “Ah. Demon killing sigils.” He tsked and shook his head. “These certainly won’t do you much good.”

            “The sigils Angel showed us have been working fine so far.’

            The blond blinked and regarded him in confusion. “Angel?” Light flickered in his eyes and he waved dismissively as he regarded the object in his hands. “You mean your brother’s little love-struck Guardian friend.” The blade glowed orange and red in the other man’s hands before he threw it back without warning. He looked pleased when Falcon caught it in the same fashion he had. The metal was still hot, even through the leather of his gloves. Nick continued conversationally, “I can only imagine the eyebrows _that_ must have raised. Guardians aren’t meant to care like he does. Bit broken, that one. Angels are soldiers, but sheep, too. Just supposed to follow their coding. Funny how similar soldiers and sheep both are: doing what they are told and never questioning it or standing out from the rest of the herd. Your friend seems a bit too _emotionally_ invested.”

            Nodding to the weapon Falcon was examining with a frown, its old markings now replaced, Nick said, “ _That_ will actually work against Abaddon and her lot.”

            Frowning deeper, Falcon lifted his head to regard the blond with narrowed eyes. “And you’re giving me a weapon I could turn around and use against you?”

            Nick smiled. “We’re connected, Sam. I can _feel_ it, so I want to keep you safe,” he purred. “Also, I am _not_ her lot.” In a blink, he was gone, vanished, only to reappear in a displacement of air and a gust of wind directly in Falcon’s personal space, their faces inches apart. “I am far more dangerous.” Mouth turning down at the corners, all of his earlier amusement vanished and he warned, “The barrier will fall, Sam, and the gate opened. Just stay out of the way and let me right things.” He gave a gentle shake of his head. “You and your siblings don’t have to die trying to stop it.”

            Swallowing thickly, Falcon attempted to lean away without actually stepping back. “We’re not afraid to.”

            Nick graciously stepped away, allowing him space. “Of course you are,” he rebutted with a smirk. His voice was low and coiling, making Falcon’s hair stand on end as he said, “It’s proof that you’re still sane and have hope.” He made a vague gesture toward himself, his smile slow and sharp. “I, on the other hand, make a claim for neither, and it makes me the deadliest threat the world has ever seen.”

 

 

            The vampires that had come into town were an embarrassment to their kind. They’d probably been an embarrassment to humanity back when they’d been a part of it as well. Hunter had no idea what vampire would willingly immortalize such brain damaged morons, or if it had been a twisted act of revenge to inflict them on the world for a theoretical eternity, but thankfully, they were no longer a problem.

            All the cells at the Men of Letters base were full, and there was no cure for full turned vampires, so they’d killed them, hidden the corpses in a dumpster, and left the bodies to quickly disintegrate as morning drew nearer.

            The Letters had a warlock on retainer currently trying to work the final kinks from a potion that would dissolve a corpse down to nothing, plus incantations that either transported a captured monster back to a cell, or could dump a body to parts unknown. He was looking forward to when they would finally be ready to use in the field. If they were actual hunters, they’d have to do all their own clean up, and he didn’t envy that at all. Even still, this form of cleanup had protocol, procedures, and paperwork.

            Hunter sometimes thought the Letters created work and excessive red tape just to make themselves feel more useful. They would be better off lending more aid to the regular hunters out there fighting the supernatural.

When they called in after the kill, Josie instructed them to meet the Garth at the white, steepled church situated at the end of one of the town’s original roads. It had a small graveyard fenced in beside it filled with eroded headstones and grave markers.

            The unlocked wooden doors creaked only slightly when they arrived, and despite his being MIA earlier, Hunter was not surprised to see Angel standing next to Garth near the altar of the church. The former hunter was leaning on his metallic pink cane and talking, using his free hand to gesture and wave rather listlessly as he glanced at them over his shoulder, before regarding the man beside him again, clearly asking a question.

            The black wings shifted, Angel shaking his head as Hunter and Night Fox made their way across the wooden floor and down the rows of pews. His boots sounded loudly at first in the quiet building, resounding off the floor and the arched rafters until he compensated, walking softer and more on the balls of his feet.

            “What’s the 9-1-1?” he asked, already dreading the answer. He could see blood trailing down the altar and pooling on the wooden floor boards.

            Adjusting his worn red cap, Garth shook his head. “It ain’t pretty,” he warned, he and Angel stepping aside to allow full view.

            It was grotesque. A man, in his late-forties with greying hair, had been laid back over the altar and then had his throat slashed. His dead eyes stared at Hunter upside-down, the sigil carefully cut into his forehead dripping blood at irregular intervals to the congealing puddle on the well-polished floor.

            Forcing himself forward, Hunter kept his eyes on the corpse, even while the very sight of it made him feel dirty and want to run, made him want to be sick. Behind him, Night Fox swiveled her view to the rafters and turned away. He could hear her mutter denials and assurances to herself in the tight, strained voice of someone trying not to panic.

            “I’m gonna go out on a limb here and guess he’s the pastor or preacher or whatever,” he said, noting how Angel’s eyes had not left the body either. Noted that he looked haggard and tired, and that it made him appear much older as a result.

            Garth nodded to a plaque on the wall that held a picture of the church’s small staff. “Yep.” He looked back to the corpse. “I’m so glad it’s not my job to break it to family members.”

            Hunter’s stomach roiled at that. Nodding, he rubbed a hand over his face and looked to their local Men of Letters contact.

            “So we now have desecrated holy grounds.” He glanced at Angel. “After clean up, will blessing the church and grounds undo it?”

            “It will,” the trench coated angel responded with a solemn nod. “But it will not undo the damage.” Sucking in a deep breath through his nose, he released it in a huff, spinning away and raking a hand through his hair a he paced. “A church has been desecrated, that’s another seal unlocked, and that much closer to the Knights unleashing Hell on earth.” He stopped and leaned back against a pew, arms folded. “We are running out of time,” he stated simply, then shook his head. Hunter realized Angel wasn’t so much talking to them as thinking aloud. “As it stands, there is no way for us to get ahead of the demons and stop this either. They need only open so many of them, not all of them.”

            There were lines and shadows under Angel’s eyes beneath his mask. He didn’t wear the eye make-up like Falcon and their sister, just the black mask that made the blue of his eyes even bluer. The angel was tired. Tired and stressed and feeling overwhelmed in such a way it made him seem very human.

            The dark haired soldier pushed away from the pew and began pacing again, occasionally making aborted steps and restarting.

            “But _how_?” he was wondering. “These are the most guarded secrets of Heaven. The only archangel left in Heaven with the answers is Michael.”

            Michael. Michael who created the Chosen to begin with, and was in a meditation coma keeping Heaven in line and tying up the phone line directly to God.

            Angel was still thinking aloud as he paced, or, as Hunter considered it, maybe the questions were directed at someone in Heaven and not on Earth. “How am I supposed to stop them if I can only sense when one had been broken? When there are hundreds of ways to break the seals?”

            He ran a hand through his hair and rubbed at the back of his neck with a sigh. Meanwhile, Garth pulled out his phone and priority-one’d a clean-up crew for the church.

            “You said Abaddon was Lucifer’s right hand, right?” questioned Hunter, turning his attention to regard his angel. Blue eyes met his behind the mask, a spark of something passing between them. “Maybe Lucifer told her. There are no records of what happened leading up to his almost release, since the MoL didn’t exist until after, and that was when Michael started the line of Chosen. Abaddon must have been with Lucifer when he tried to get out the first time and knows enough of the steps or seals to get it done a second time as well. I mean, apparently this is something demons try every few hundred years, when the stars and planets are in a certain configuration, but this is the first time Abaddon is known to be a part of it. She even said she’d been asleep in a crypt for centuries, biding her time or whatever.”

            Hanging up his phone, Garth pocketed it and inclined his head toward the door, then back at the corpse. “The crew is on their way. We need to clear out.” He looked back at the blond hero. “I’ll fill out the reports.”

            Nodding, Hunter turned and stopped, looking back. “Wait. Who found the body?”

            Not meeting his gaze, Garth pushed past him, gait awkward and rushed. “That would be me. Deacon of the church. Thursdays are when we get together as a church family to pray.” His voice cracked and he had to take a minute to collect himself. “I stayed late and was helping in the office with paperwork. Angel showed up not a minute later. I never saw the culprit. Brother Ed didn’t even scream.”

            Silence hung heavy in the air until Garth broke it by starting forward again, Night Fox falling into step beside him with a careful, “So how about I walk you to your car? Do you have a friend you can stay with tonight so you aren’t alone?” she questioned, purposefully trying to distract him as he turned his head to glance back at the body one last time. She was there to block the sight and they stepped outside.

            Hunter grabbed Angel’s forearm as he moved to follow, fingers curling in the tan fabric. The heavenly creature looked at him.

            “We need to talk about this. Alone,” Hunter pressed.

            Blue eyes blinked slowly, Angel’s gaze drifted to the pair desperately making conversation out on the church steps.

            “Very well,” he agreed, before pulling out of Hunter’s grip and away. “But not in here.”

            Hunter touched the device in his ear, a moment later there was a beep and then, “Falcon,” came his brother’s voice in greeting.

            “Any trouble?” Hunter questioned.

            “Not in the usual. Ran into ‘Nick’ again.” Hunter could hear the air quotes and wondered if his brother had actually used them. “Guy likes to hear himself talk and invade personal space.”

            “Are you okay?” he asked, stepping out into the night air and onto the steps of the little church.

            “Fine. He talks more than anything. You?”

            “We’ve got a body.” Falcon hissed out a curse. “And another broken seal. I’m gonna send Fox to you and talk to Angel, though he’s got nothing more than we do it seems. Catch up later,” he said, meeting his sister’s eye. The phone went dead. “Meet Falcon at home and call it a night. Get some sleep.” She nodded and took off at a jog. He looked at Garth. “Try to do the same,” he told him gently.

            The other man nodded, turning and heading toward his vehicle. The other one had to belong to Brother Ed. Hunter watched him drive off and turn the corner, arms folded over his chest.

            “What’s our worst case scenario?” he asked, more than just the cool breeze giving him a chill.

            “The gate opens.”

            “Are there any other ways to close it rather than me taking a flying leap?”

            “The only way is for someone to jump or fall in,” the angel sighed, the two of them finally pivoting to face each other. Hunter cast a glance around, but there was no one to see the angel and costumed warrior on the steps of the church at midnight. “The gate is meant to keep things _in_ , or to let them out when opened. Like a trap for a wild animal, something must _enter_ it to trigger the gate closing and locking in place.”

            “How many other potential gate seals are there before it opens? What _could_ they be?”

            “They could be anything: a demonic sign, a biblical one, any number of things,” Angel said, growing agitated again. “Livestock slaughter, mass killing of a group of people, the taking of children as vessels followed by ritualistic parricide, the killing of the Reapers, necromancy,” he jabbed an extended arm toward the wooden doors of the church, “desecration of a holy place.” He dropped his arm, hand falling slack to his side. “There are too many possible ones- ones I’m not even sure apply- to even predict what the next one could be. Some subtle, others more obvious. Abaddon seems to not care about the more subtle ones and is already garnering attention from human authorities.”

            Nodding, Hunter ran a hand through his hair and scratched at the back of his skull in irritation. “Okay, we’re gonna have to take more drastic matters or something. This isn’t working if there’s no systematic way to even anticipate their moves, not to mention there are far more of them than us. How many more seals need to be broken before the gate it opened and Lucifer and Hell are released.”

            Angel stared off into the distance a moment before sorrowful blue eyes met his.

            “One.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Seven

 

            Despite not having asked for the go-ahead from the Men of Letters, Charlie hacked into every surveillance system around town, setting up both of her laptops and Sam’s in the boys’ room to constantly run facial recognition software trying to find Abaddon before she could break the final seal. It stood to reason it would be her, though they had the program searching for Nick’s face as well. It was a long shot, but they were the only two working to open the gate that the warriors could identify. They weren’t holding out very much hope that the program would help. The image of Nick had been grainy, and on their- well, Sam’s- few run-ins with him, he’d appeared to have no particular agenda at all, other that his unusual interest in Sam.

            His ability to teleport and mind read still made them all very uneasy, as did his clearly superior skills in a fight. When Falcon had come at Nick with everything he had, Nick had only appeared to be toying with him. He’d batted the hero’s attacks aside like a cat playing with a toy. He’d never even hit Falcon in return. Also, there were the runes he’d inscribed on Falcon’s knife, written in a language so old Angel had been forced to research the archives of Heaven to verify their effectiveness.

            They would defeat a Knight of Hell. They could even be used against an archangel. There was a similar weapon, though made of much darker materials and purpose, in an alternate universe called The First Blade. According the archives of Heaven, it was a dangerous and forbidden weapon that granted unlimited power at the cost of the wielder’s soul.

            The three siblings were still debating on whether or not to share the markings with the Letters, even though Sam and Charlie had already upgraded their weapons with the markings. While the Letters had all sworn to uphold the same code of honor, balance, and justice, the idea of putting a weapon that could kill anything in Heaven, Hell, or on Earth in their hands didn’t sit right with any of the siblings. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. They were considering going to their grandfather, approaching him as their _grandfather_ rather than as the director of the Men of Letters. With their mom there as well, they could decide within their family what to do, and whether or not to hand over such a potentially dangerous weapon.

            It was Friday night, a week after Garth had found Brother Ed in the church and the quiet that had fallen over the town had Dean and the others on edge. When Abaddon’s face pinged on Charlie’s software program, it was almost a relief, like they’d been holding their breath waiting for the inevitable.

            She was going into the night club, the line of college students waiting to get in almost halfway around the building.

            Dean and Charlie’s eyes met from opposite sides of the boys’ dorm room, before they were scrambling over books and off beds to get to the door. They half rushed to hers and Gilda’s room, making the other girl startle sharply, throwing herself back and into a chest of drawers as they burst in.

            “Sorry, baby,” Charlie gushed, moving forward to grab her girlfriend by the elbow and lead her from the room, handing her her purse as she did. “Sibling emergency. Go get a coffee or something, please. We just need the room for- just give us thirty minutes? Twenty? Twenty minutes.”

            The other girl frowned at them oddly, then shook her head. “If you weren’t brother and sister and you weren’t gay…” She sighed and headed down the hall.

            Dean’s hand went to his chest the moment the door shut, transforming in an instant, before he was peeling off clothes just as fast as Charlie was tossing him new ones. In all his life, a mission had only forced him to do this a handful of times. He’d done it a handful of others just for fun. They’d barely dressed and armed Charlie before Sam was knocking on the door.

            The red head was wearing the black and gray checked hooded jacket and leather jacket she normally wore as Night Fox, but with jeans and converses instead of her normal knee pads and thigh sheathes for weapons. She shoved her mask into one of her jacket’s inner pockets. Sam was dressed in jeans and a leather jacket over a Henley. Dean wondered how many knives he had hidden on him. For Hunter, he threw on a soft, silky shirt the colors of a peach that sparkled faintly when it caught the light. Dressed in another pair of jeans, Hunter shoved his feet into Night Fox’s boots.

            Getting past the line and into the club was fairly easy. The difficult part was that the club had two levels and was full of people in a dimly lit area. With a series of hand gestures and significant looks, they split up: Sam to cover the ground floor, while the other two moved up to the second floor to search and also offer a bird’s eye view.

            Coming in opposite directions, Charlie and another person nearly barreled right into each other as they wove through the mass of bodies around them. Both of them pulled back at the last second to avoid the collision and blinked at the other in surprise.

            “Cas!” squeaked Charlie, making Hunter jerk his head from where he’d been looking up scanning the faces overhead to snap his gaze in the other man’s direction, eyes wide.

            The other man seemed equally surprised to see them- or well, Charlie, mouth working soundlessly before shutting with an unheard click. He looked out of place in his burgundy hoodie and t-shirt. Hunter didn’t miss the panicked look Charlie shot his way, a silent ‘What do I do?’ before plastering on a falsely cheerful smile.

            “Would never have taken you as one for the party scene. You’ve been so scarce late-“ Her words caught up with her then and her face froze, before shifting instantly to anger. Setting her jaw, she shook her head. “No, you know what? I’m not playing nice.” She gave his shoulder a shove. “Seriously, dude, _where have you been_?! I thought you were swamped with as much school work and family stuff as we’ve been, rather than just _avoiding_ my brother!”

            He didn’t react to her anger, just said, “I thought you were busy as well.”

            Her glare darkened and Hunter was a conflicting ball of emotions, sharing her anger and sense of betrayal, while at the same time wanting to disarm the entire confrontation they didn’t have time for, certain he could handle _not_ knowing the truth better than being forced to hear it and trying not to react. Also, there was a demon knight on the loose and people to protect. They did not need to be distracted.

            “We’re here on a 9-1-1 rescue mission,” Charlie snapped at him. “I don’t _remember_ the last time we actually went out for have fun- oh wait. _It was with_ _you_. God, Cas, I am so angry at you right now! I kept trying to give you the benefit of the doubt- Sam and I both did- because we thought you really liked Dean.” Grabbing the red head’s upper arm, Hunter squeezed it warningly to no avail. She shook him off like she’d forgotten he was standing right there, yanking her arm free without a sideways glance. “I didn’t think you were some jerk who just starts ignoring his friends, or blows off someone who is so obviously head over heels for you-“

            “Charlie!” Hunter barked at her, just as Cas argued,

            “I _do_ like him.”

            Both of them looked at him in surprise. “What?”

            Beseeching eyes played over Charlie’s face. “I like Dean. _Very_ much.”

            Suddenly angry again, Charlie shoved his chest this time. The people around them were already giving them room to have the confrontation, eyes watching them both warily and in amusement.

            “Then _call_ him. Or answer your damn door! Or your _phone_ , for crying out loud!”

            He looked down, genuinely appearing grieved as he shook his head. “It’s not that simple.”

            “No, I’m pretty sure it is. You made a choice of picking your personal _crap_ over my brother when his feelings became inconvenient for you.”

            Hunter’s whole face blossomed red in embarrassment as he grabbed for her arm again. “Charlie!” he hissed.

            “I really _do_ care for Dean, _very_ much” Cas insisted, looking at her again, “but right now has turned out to be truly terrible timing.”

            Now Hunter got angry, glaring at the taller man. “Then tell him that,” he snapped, wanting to give the other man a shove of his own. “Don’t just shut him out and leave him wondering, thinking he did something wrong and it’s a personal rejection.”

            It wasn’t until the blond spoke that Castiel actually even seemed to notice him standing there. His expression was careful as he asked, “Are you friends as well?”

            Hunter blinked, mouth opening. He composed himself, expression still angry. “I’m family visiting, and if you have any decency or care for Dean at _all_ , you will go freaking _talk to him_. C’mon, Charlie,” he said, tugging her toward the stairs, “we’re on a mission.”

            Cas was lost in the bodies behind them, Hunter forcing himself not to look back as he struggled to refocus his attention on the much bigger problem they still had to deal with. Charlie followed closely behind him, led by the death grip Hunter had on her hand. He could feel himself shaking, blood pounding in his ears.

            “Are you okay?” she questioned.

            Hunter balled his free hand into a fist to keep it from trembling. “No, I am not okay! I am angry! And hurt!” Snorting, he scanned the faces around them. “And we don’t have _time_ for it right now.”

            That was when he saw Abaddon. He was still heaving for breath and fighting to maintain his composure when a flash of light on red caught his eye. She was sitting in a guy’s lap, pressing a pill to his lips with a red lacquered finger, grinning widely as he accepted it. She reached a drink on the table, placing it to his lips and tipping it up.

            Fluidly, she was up and mingling, weaving and pressing against bodies. Packets and pills changed hands, money and kisses were exchanged. Meanwhile, Charlie signaled to Sam on the ground while the pair of them stalked Abaddon’s location as she moved with purpose across the floor, headed for the roof exit.

            The red head slipped through the shadows to the exit, then out the door onto a section of the roof. Rejoined, the three of them followed her, Sam and Charlie slipping on their masks before they stepped outside.

            It was a trap.

            Black-eyed demons and vampires surrounded them, grinning and armed with a variety of conveniently grabbed weapons: long pieces of metal, a broken beer bottle, a switch blade.

            A woman’s tinkering laugh jerked their attention away from the half dozen or so minions and to Abaddon, where she was sitting cross-legged above the door they’d just come out of. Smiling she cocked her head to the side, eyes raking over all three of them.

            “Oh I like the new look. Very sexy and still classy. Did away with the costumes and dress up, have we?” She made a pouty face. “It’s not nearly so much fun if you aren’t all dressed for your roles when I kill you. Not that we’re supposed to.” She sighed in disappointment, like a child whose toys had been taken away. “In fact, I’ve been ordered to not hurt you at all.” She jumped down to saunter right up to Hunter. “Which is _odd_ , don’t you think? Being that we’re demons, and death and mayhem are kinda in the job description.” Her lips curled into a predatory smile. “Orders or not, I still plan on having that pretty head as my trophy.”

            Everything sprang into action. Abaddon moved to try and rake her blood red nails across Hunter’s face, Falcon threw several knives, and Night Fox yanked off her jacket, firing a short bolt from the compact crossbow strapped to her forearm.

            Abaddon’s nails raked across Hunter’s temple and eyebrow, leaving angry, bleeding scratches and catching the blond by surprise before he swung a right hook, forcing space between them as she avoided the blow.

            “ _Scratching_?” he demanded, angrier than he’d expected. “This is _no_ cat fight!” His fingers curled around the hilt of his sword as it materialized in his hands and he swung at her.

            Night Fox’s bolt caught a demon in the throat, protruding through the other side. The man fell to flail and choke on the ground as the markings on the weapon made him light up and seize, then fall limp.

            Falcon’s knives embedded themselves in a demon and two vampires, sinking deeply into thighs, shoulders, and other non-vital areas. He knew if they captured Abaddon she would never talk, but one of the minions would crack like an egg under enough pressure, and if they could capture enough of them, they were bound to learn something.

            Their blades clashed as Hunter and Abaddon charged each other, metal crossing as they fought for footing, pushing against each other with their teeth bared. She actually had to put effort into fighting him this time.

            “Oh, it looks as though someone’s growing into their role. Have you been practicing?”

            Hunter won the struggle, Abaddon leaping back and away as her boots began to slide over gravel. Her feet found purchase on the small roof covering she’d been sitting on earlier, Hunter grinning viciously up at her. The redhead smirked, the corner of her mouth curling in amusement, before she lifted one hand, her fore and middle finger pointing at the other warrior. With a flick of her wrist, Hunter was yanked violently through the air and crashed into Night Fox. The bolt she’s had prepared went wild.

            “Reduced to parlor tricks since you know you’d lose in a fair fight?” taunted Hunter, pushing to his feet.

            Fox launched another bolt at the red head with only a glance, before another demon slashed at her holding the jagged end of a bottle. She bent backwards to avoid the blow, then grabbed his wrist in one hand, using her other to break his arm at the elbow, bending the joint in the wrong direction.

            A couple of the remaining demons and vampires slunk off to safety then, as more of them were taken out of the fight or incapacitated with injury. Of the four remaining, two attempted to take on Falcon. Another was rapidly exchanging blows with Night Fox. The last demon was Abaddon.

            The demon knight fought dirty.           
            “Effectively,” she countered, after his furious exclamation when she’d grabbed him by a handful of hair and yanked, kicking at the back of his knees as she did. “This wouldn’t be a fair fight even if you did have my abilities to put us on more equal footing.”

            The denim covering Hunter’s knees protected the skin as he was forced down on the sharp gravel, but the tiny shards still stuck painfully. Snarling, he slammed his elbow into her abdomen, doubling her over, before ramming the joint straight into her nose with a crunch he took sick delight in. She let go of his hair, both hands cupping her face as she reeled away, nose broken and already pouring blood.

            Her seductive and coy demeanor cracked then, no longer wanting to toy with the Ordained. They circled each other, hunter holding his sword at the ready, while she swore through stained teeth and reset her nose.

            The damage seemed to heal even as he watched.

            “I was going to kill you quickly,” Abaddon admitted, “quick snap of the neck, then rip your head completely off in the same move, but now I think I’ll take my time.”

            Pursing his lips, he said, “My plan is still to kill you quickly. There wouldn’t any point or fun in getting to torture you first.”

            The blade she held spun in her grip as she grinning in genuine amusement at him. “Like you don’t have your kinks- which are probably much the same as mine.”

            Hunter faltered, a stone sinking in his stomach. This wasn’t right. Even with the training he’d been going through with Angel, all the extra training Falcon and Night Fox had been getting in, there was _no way_ it should have even remotely seemed like they stood a chance of winning against the Knight of Hell. They _weren’t_ on equal footing, all the bravado in the world didn’t change that and he knew it. Abaddon could toss them like ragdolls without touching them.

            Something else was wrong- or else this was the bait for the real trap.

            His eyes widened and he rapidly backpedalled away from her and closer to his siblings.

            “You’re stalling us,” he accused. The other two snapped their heads to look at him sharply. “Someone _else_ is breaking the final seal.”

            Abaddon raised her brows, grinning sharply. “Bingo,” she sing-songed, before turning to peer off in the distance. “Any second now…”

            Falcon slammed the skull of the last demon brutally against the roof beneath their feet, hand to the device in his ear even as he plucked a knife from a fallen vampire and threw it straight at Abaddon’s turned back.

            She held up her hand, palm flat. The blade stopped in midair. It clattered to the ground just as an explosion sounded in the direction she was looking. Her lips pulled back from her teeth in a painfully wide grin.

            On the bridge crossing over the river, an eighteen-wheeler had exploded and was now a ball of flames. The vehicle was hanging part of the way over the side of the bridge, other cars and drivers slamming on brakes too late and careening with one another. More cars caught fire and exploded as whatever chemicals pouring from the rig continued to burn.

            The sound of sirens soon joined the cacophony of noise.

            Hunter looked back toward Abaddon, while Falcon was already speaking rapidly to someone at headquarters, but she was already gone.

            In a rush of air and feathers, Angel dropped down to land where she’d just been standing, folding his wings behind him and looking windblown and fearful.

            “She was a diversion,” he told them- told Hunter, their eyes locking as they both moved toward each other unconsciously.

            Hunter wanted to check him over for injuries, make sure he was alright, and ask where he’d been. There was fear roiling in the other man’s eyes, a near desperate panic, and for a moment, Hunter forgot they were heroes, that Angel was a warrior of Heaven and not a human; that it was this creature, this man that was created specifically to protect him.

            In that moment, all Hunter wanted to do was protect Angel. He wanted to reach out, wanted to reassure him that everything would be fine, that he would make sure of it.

            He wanted to promise he’d protect everyone and mean it.

            “How bad is it?” he questioned lowly instead.

            Angel looked defeated by the inquiry, tearing his gaze away and not meeting Hunter’s eye.

            “That was the final seal.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  

Chapter Eight

 

            The explosions caused structural damage to the bridge and several of the support cables attached to the arch. The bridge was shut down and all traffic rerouted further downriver to cross.

            While the three fighters headed back to campus to change into their uniforms and properly gear up, they called the Men of Letters and demanded all the extra manpower and backup that was available.

            “History is repeating itself,” Hunter warned headquarters, tossing Charlie her Kevlar vest that she wore under her clothing as she hurriedly yanked off her jackets, pulled the vest on, then quickly redressed and began checking her weapons.

            The world was ending, but they would still have to wait even for that. Garth and the Letters did what they could to make sure red tape cleared the area of the bridge until sunrise. All fires had been put out and emergency vehicles had carted away the last of the victims.

            News reports were saying some thirty people were already confirmed dead, either at the scene or on the way to the hospital, as a bus full of students returning from an away game were the first to careen into the burning eighteen-wheeler. A dozen or more other civilians were being treated for serious injuries.

            Whether they believed it or not, their night was about to get so much worse if Hunter and the others couldn’t find some way to stop the minions of Hell from opening the door at midnight, the time when the barrier between worlds was at its weakest.

            If they could just stall them, then everything would be undone and they’d have to wait centuries before ever having another chance.

            Despite not knowing what the hell they were doing, they did have a plan. Dressed and armed, they made their way along their familiar jogging route, not caring they were out in the open where anyone could have seen them. There was no one out, streets were abandoned like the whole town could sense the change in the air. Something bad wasn’t just coming; it was already there.

            If they could just stall for time, and kill the demons and Abaddon, plus capture Nick, then they could stop them from trying to open the gate altogether. They had to be the last of the demon knights, there was no other explanation that made sense as to how they’d been able to accomplish what they had so far.

            Hunter voted for killing both the demon knights just for the hell of it. They were too big a threat to keep alive, but Falcon insisted they could use Nick to gain information, and that they at least try to capture him first. He hadn’t made an effort to hurt anyone, as far as they knew, the brunette reminded his brother. That it was Nick that had saved Falcon from being shot with one of Night Fox’s arrows, and then later gave them new runes for their weapons so they would actually be useful.

            “I’m not saying he’s a good guy, but I don’t think he’s actually on their side.”

            Angel was currently in Heaven trying to get any help they could or would afford him, beseeching the Council one last time that humanity was facing it's most dire hour since Joan had walked the Earth. From the look on his face before he’d left, though, Hunter wasn’t holding out much hope for reinforcements from upstairs. It didn’t exactly leave him feeling terribly kind toward the God-squad, either. Far as he could tell, rebel though he may be, Angel was the best of all of them.

            He wasn’t just furious with Heaven, though. The Men of Letters weren’t exactly sending in all the troops, either. Apparently, it was a divine battle, and therefore, it was up to the Ordained to determine the outcome. Troops were being sent as a last line of defense and for containment of the area, but the actual battle against the Knights of Hell- and Lucifer, if he got free- was up to the Ordained.

            The Ordained and his allies.

            Joan had an army and still died in order to stop Hell the last time.

            All this time, he’d been afraid of having to sacrifice himself in order to stop Hell, but now, even that seemed optimistic. Surely an army would be waiting for them at the bridge, expecting their resistance. The resistance was a group of four people, and not the army Joan had had at her disposal the first time. They would die, slaughtered without even having the chance to stop the portal from opening- or closing it once it had.

            With both Dean and Sam dead, their cousin Jo Harvelle would probably be activated as the next Ordained. She was just a regular monster hunter living all the way over in California and completely inexperienced with anything of these proportions.

            God, their mother would even take up the fight, still the active Ordained for her generation of their bloodline. The scared little boy in Dean desperately wanted his mother to magically be able to just fix all of it, to turn back time, make none of it have happened yet and let them redo it. The second time, let them stop Abaddon and the other demons before they ever broke the required number of seals.

            There was a pentagram drawn on the bridge, symbols and runes painted through the center of it in a spiral, some of the paint on cars and debris that hadn’t been cleared away. There was a force waiting for them, though not the army Hunter had been expecting. It was still comprised of demons and monsters, plus massive black hellhounds with glowing eyes, and bodies that gave off wisps of black smoke like a haze of blacktop in summer.

            They spotted Abaddon just as Angel dropped down from the sky in a crouch beside Hunter, his wings folding as he rose.

            Hunter turned to regard him. "The angels?"

            Shaking his head, he sighed, "The Council is still arguing over the matter and had not come to a decision when I left. Zachariah is putting forth a strong argument that the Ordained can handle this crisis alone, and as he was is only one on the Council to have been assigned an Ordained to look after and protect, many are deferring to his judgment." He rubbed a hand over his face, before shaking his head. "My sister Anna said she will try to find others willing to come, regardless of what the Council decides, but I know Uriel already suspects this of her and will probably find some way to keep them away. He and Zachariah are of similar personality."

            Hunter angrily jabbed a hand toward red headed Knight of Hell. "Did they get the memo about our Hell Bitch problem?"

            Angel turned his head to regard her, eyes widening as he did. Abaddon was standing beside the front of a car directly in the center of the pentagram, twirling her short sword and grinning wickedly at them. Seated on the roof of the car, legs folded and eyes slowly opening to lock with Falcon’s, was Nick.

            “Lucifer,” breathed Angel.

            The three siblings looked at him in alarm.

            “ _What_?”

            Following his line of sight, Falcon looked at Nick, pointing to him as he turned back to the masked angel.

            “The blond?” Shaking his head, he let his arm fall slack. “No. You’re mistaken. There’s _no_ way. He’d been working with Abaddon, sure, but he hasn’t really done anything but maybe stall me in fights. _He’s_ the one that fixed our weapon sigils to use _against_ Abaddon.” He pointed to him again, realizing none of them had actually seen the man before. “ _That_ is Nick!”

            “The guy that likes to hear himself talk?” questioned Hunter, looking over at the blond.

            “Yes!”

            Angel wasn’t hearing him, utterly thrown by this development and shaking his head in denial. “This makes no sense. I don’t understand.”

            Well, at least he wasn’t the only one. If Lucifer was already out of the cage, then none of this made sense.

            That was when Abaddon gave a shrill whistle, spurring all the hellhounds and monsters to motion, launching themselves forward as she laughed.

            “I’m hoping someone has a Plan C?” demanded Hunter, before the four of them rushed forward to meet the oncoming assault.

            Overhead, dark clouds churned and swirled, the wind blowing cool air off the river that was now moving in a circular motion, both the whirlpool current of the river and the clouds overhead were following the spiral pattern painted onto the bridge.

            While Angel and Hunter got into hand-to-hand fights, both with their weapons ready and gleaming in the half-light, Night Fox ran the perimeter firing off arrows, jumping onto cars and running across the railing beside the two lanes. Meanwhile, Falcon all but stalked directly toward Nick, killing any demon or supernatural creature that lunged at him in the quickest, most brutal way he could, while hardly missing a step, half seething with rage, feeling oddly betrayed by Lucifer’s deceit.

            Waving Abaddon away, the blond slid off the car to meet Falcon, hands up in a placating manner, even as the brunette threw his first swing.

            “You’re Lucifer?” He grabbed for Lucifer’s wrist, positioning his foot to try and use the angel’s weight against him and toss him onto the car he’d just been sitting on. “You lied to me!”

            The blond slid out of the maneuver like water slipping through Falcon’s fingers. He gave the taller man a hurt look. “I did not. And I didn’t want it to come to this, Sam. We shouldn’t be fighting. You knew I didn’t give you my real name, and I did tell you no one liked the sound of my given one.”

            Silver flashed through the air as the younger man tried to sneak in an attack with one of his knives.

            “Pretty sure it’s not your _name_ people have a problem with.”

            In a series of quick movements, Lucifer knocked the blade from Falcon’s hand and into the air. He snatched it away and tossed it under the car, before blue eyes turned beseechingly to the brunette.

            “Please, Sam. You don’t need to get hurt in this. Just stand down and I’ll leave you unharmed. Fighting is pointless.”

            Trying for a combination of body punches and then a roundhouse kick- and unable to land even a single one, Falcon jumped back and stood in a ready stance. Brows furrow, he shook his head.

            “Help me to understand,” he said, realizing as he said it how much he meant it. “Why hide who you are? Why all of this if you’re already free? Why help us with weapons to fight your own people? Why are you protecting me- even if by not fighting back?”

            On one end of the bridge, the others had their hands full fighting. Abaddon was seated on the tailgate of a truck and was meticulously filing and examining her nails, as if completely oblivious to the battle going on around her. Occasionally she would lean out of the way as one of Night Fox’s arrows shot toward her.

            Letting his gaze drift over the chaos on the bridge, the fallen angel explained, “Joan did not succeed in keeping me locked away when she threw herself into the portal. She jumped in too late. I and many others had already managed to crawl out of Hell to this world, then survived the chaos of the battle we found ourselves in the middle of. Only the strongest or cleverest were left when the dust settled.” He looked back at Falcon, appearing weary and sad, all the years of history showing in his demeanor. “Crowley and Cain eventually left to find their own path. Others like Lilith, Azazel, and Ruby died along the way. We put ourselves into a sleep that lasted for centuries- to await a time when we could try to reopen the portal. Meg was not in her resting spot when we awoke in the crypt.” He shook his head. “I was not meant to wander the earth, Sam. Let me end all this.”

 

 

A distance away, Hunter and Angel were fighting back to back against dozens of demons and werewolves, while hellhounds snapped at their heels and tried to sink rows of too many teeth into their calves. Night Fox was running along the edge of the bridge, more hell hounds snapping at her heels and at the air as she whizzed by or jumped over their heads. She fired off round after round, jumping over obstacles and scrambling up onto cars to get away from attacks and demonic dogs. Then, she was zigzagging her way through vehicles and over bodies recollecting her arrows as she darted to the other side of the bridge and began firing again.

            For as much as Abaddon seemed to be ignoring and not involving herself in the fight, she still managed to somehow just dodge every arrow the hero sent her way.

            Balling up his fist, Hunter reared back and brought it down full force into the side of a Hellhound’s face that had latched onto his calf, the thick leather of his boot keeping all the rows of sharp teeth from tearing into the flesh.

            “What now?” he asked Angel. “I’m guessing stalling them isn’t an option is Luci is _already_ out.”

            “I don’t know,” admitted the angel, stabbing one demon, before turning and wrapping his arms and wings around his Chosen as a demon opened fire with an automatic weapon. “Night Fox, take cover!” The shots ricocheted off the massive black wings, shattering windshields and windows, putting holes in the bodies of cars, before one of the bullets hit the demon, snapping his head straight back before he hit the pavement.

            “This is a first for me,” he said as he and Hunter separated and began exchanging punches with a couple of vampires. Fox was up and running again, quick as a flash. “All these centuries, we thought Lucifer caged. Otherwise, Michael would have scoured the earth looking for him.”

            Twisting out of a hold a vampire tried to put on him, Hunter slipped away and behind the man, knocking him to his knees, while keeping a hold on the same arm that had grabbed him.  He broke the vampires elbow with a quick blow that made the arm bend in wrong, ripping a scream from the other man, before the blond silenced him with his sword.

            “Okay, forget Lucifer for a second. The portal is still our main concern. What does he need to do in order to open it?” he demanded over his shoulder.

            “Abaddon has to die,” Angel called out, taking a right hook to the jaw from a demon the size of a linebacker.

            The blow forced him staggering back a step, before he gave a shake of his head and rubbed at his jaw.  The angel retaliated with a glare and an inhuman burst of speed, getting in a dozen body shots before slipping under the demon’s outstretched arms and stabbing his angel sword in under the creature’s ribs.

            He turned to Hunter. “As Lucifer’s right hand and a knight of Hell, Abaddon has to be sacrificed to open the portal.”

            “So now we have to fight to keep her _alive_? She is too dangerous to let live.”

            “Keep her alive _for now_. If Lucifer cannot sacrifice her, she will likely do the job herself-“

            The blond nodded rapidly. “And same results. The gate opens, Hell gets unleashed, and I have to swan dive in like Joan- taking Lucifer with me- to close it.” He glanced over his shoulder. His sister was fighting hand-to-hand with a dark haired woman on top of a car, and using her bow as a weapon to strike blows and throw the demon off balance. He grinned when she grabbed the demon and tossed her headlong over her shoulder. “Hey Night Fox, you hear that?”

            Heaving for breath, she notched an arrow and shot it through the throat of another demon, before throwing him a quick salute. “Protect the Queen. On it.”

            Angel grabbed Hunter’s arm, turning him around. Both the celestial being’s hands gripped the blond’s forearms as blue eyes desperately played over his face.

            The angel’s expression was raw with pain and desperation. Hunter was struck by how much Angel actually cared, not just to look after Hunter as his assignment and mission, but genuinely _cared_. Here was a creature, a person, who had looked after and protected Hunter for years before they ever met, knew his civilian identity, and broke tradition by choosing to fight beside Hunter in his battles.

            Angel didn’t just care.

            Angel loved him. Desperately. He was as anxious to save Hunter as the rest of them were. What would an angel’s grief look like if they failed?

            Car doors slammed and broke the spell between them, their attention jerked to all the black unmarked vehicles and men in suits setting up formation with their weapons, along with a  few local law enforcement. Surrounded as they were by corpses, Hunter had a horrible moment of fear that they were about to make world news in a major way. Then he saw Garth and Sheriff Jody Mills and knew the cavalry had arrived.

            He wanted to laugh, thoughts of Nick Fury and _Men In Black_ flitting through his head as well-dressed soldiers took up position.

            His amusement died off as the remaining Hellhounds- basically all that was left of hell’s forces save for Abaddon and Lucifer- shifted, pawing the cement and snarling before shoving themselves forward as one, barking and growling as they sped around and over cars, past the fighters to target the Men of Letters instead.

            Angel and Hunter both moved to intercept them, but Night Fox stopped them. “No!” Her brother’s boots skid to a halt as he turned to look at her. She pointed to the Knight of Hell watching Lucifer bat away Falcon’s every attack. “They’re drawing you away. Stay with Abaddon and Lucifer, I’ve got this,” she promised, already sending arrows flying toward the animals.

            The glyph and sigils marked across the bridge were growing brighter at midnight drew near, the water below and clouds overhead churning more violently. Hunter wondered if the river wouldn’t invert and become a water spout, the clouds forming a funnel to meet it halfway.

           

 

            Looking deeply pained and mournful, Lucifer shook his head; still batting aside Falcon’s every move like a cat batting at a string. He’d systematically disarmed him again as well, and it was no less infuriating a second time.

            “I’m trying to fix things, Sam,” he beseeched. “I could have killed you and your siblings if I wanted. Could have let them be killed. Could kill you _now_. Just stand aside.”

            The brunette scoffed. “Like I would just trust _you_. You’re _Lucifer_.”

            Hurt flashed in blue eyes and Lucifer scowled, jutting his chin to the side. The fallen archangel jerked his head toward where Falcon’s allies were fighting the last of the opposition.

            “And I suppose your friend ‘ _Angel’_ has been so forthcoming and honest? At least _I_ never lied to you.” Falcon faltered, brows knitting together in confusion just as the blond shook his head, expression apologetic. “I didn’t want to have to do this.”

            His joined hands swung out and caught Falcon across the side of the face, staggering him into the side of a pickup. The uppercut to his jaw landed him on the ground. Abaddon was laughing from where she was observing like a spectator.

            Straddling his waist, Lucifer gripped the front of Falcon’s uniform, fingers curling in the blue band across the chest to jerk him forward, his left first already drawn back.

            “Let me be finished, Sam,” he whispered.

            The punch left the masked fighter in a dazed, half-conscious heap on the pavement. Lucifer carefully rose off of him, grabbing one of the nearby blades on the ground as he did so.

            With all the demons and monsters defeated, Angel and Hunter were simultaneously trying to fend off Hellhounds and get past an invisible barrier Abaddon was now maintaining with an outstretched hand that kept all three of them from getting any closer to her. Fox was beating at the invisible wall with her bow, while Hunter kept slashing at it with his sword, making the wall pulse with white light on every blow, but it didn’t budge. She was grinning and laughing at their efforts when Lucifer stalked up to her from behind, one hand tangling in her hair as he yanked her head back and slashed her throat wide open.

            Lightning exploded overhead just as the resistance holding them back suddenly vanished and all three of them staggered forward. The earth shook as the violent whirlpool spinning beneath the bridge became the portal, its edges and inside a spiraling wall of flames.

            Lucifer moved to stand on the edge of the bridge, one hand clasped around the support cable as he peered down into the vortex, oblivious to the noise and chaos all around him, of Falcon pulling himself to his feet, of the other warriors fixed in horror. Lucifer’s expression was serene. Closing his eyes, he tilted his face up, the violent wind whipping at his hair and clothes.

            Hunter shoved to his feet, taking off at a run with the intent of tackling Lucifer over the edge, closing the portal with the angel on the right side of it this time.

            Instead, Angel caught him around the waist, holding him back as the blond instinctively fought, desperate green eyes locked on Lucifer.

            “Dean, wait!” The use of his name, his real name, sounding so familiar made Hunter freeze. “Closing the portal _is_ what Lucifer’s after,” realized Angel with astonishment, watching as Lucifer took a breath and then let himself fall forward. "Throwing himself in his stripped state will kill him."

            A strangled cry ripped from Hunter’s throat as Falcon scrambled over the railing and dove after the angel, black cable trailing behind him as he leapt.

            He managed to grab Lucifer by the forearm when his secured grappling cable caught and jerked them both to a sharp stop, the cord cutting into Falcon’s hand and leaving them dangling in open air. Falcon grit his teeth at the strain of holding both his and Lucifer’s weight, grip tight around the fallen archangel’s wrist and forearm.

            The look on the blond’s face was one of horror. “What are you doing?” he yelled over the roar of the portal.

            “Easy,” warned Falcon, “or I lose my gripe and we both fall.”

            The cable pulled tighter around his hand, and he let out a pained noise as the bones of his hand ground together. He knew he couldn’t hold them much longer. The portal was pulling down on them, and any more pressure on his hand would cause all the bones to break and then they would both fall into the mouth of hell. Lucifer stilled, hand locking around Falcon’s forearm, even as he stared up in utter confusion. The brunette tried to smile, but it was more a grimace of teeth.

            “We have a rule about killing people, you know,” he told him. “No one else needs to die today, not even you.”

            “Falcon!” Hunter and Night Fox yelled, throwing themselves past the safety barrier and to the edge of the bridge.

            The brunette nearly sagged in relief as they began slowly pulling them back up to safety. Meanwhile, Angel had lifted Abaddon’s dead body over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. He took her over to the railing with Hunter and Fox were helping their brother and his back onto the bridge, then he unceremoniously tossed her lifeless body into open air and down into the portal.

            The reaction was like a grenade exploding in the water. The walls of the portal collapsed on themselves, water surging into the air and then pounding down in torrents. All five of them dropped or were yanked into a crouch as they withstood it. Clouds dispersed overhead as the five of them were all drenched in falling water, the river falling back into place, and an almost eerie calm settled over the bridge.

            Cautiously, the soaking wet fighters stood, looking around for the next threat to come at them. Hunter barked a laugh and wiped water from his eyes, shoving his hair back away from his face as they stepped over the railing and onto the cluttered lanes of the bridge once more, Lucifer in tow.

            That was when another pair suddenly appeared on the bridge: a very cross looking bald black man dressed in a suit, and a masked blond woman draped in white robes with a leather belt and sandals that wrapped around her calves.

            “Kids!” she cried out, rushing forward.

            The three drenched warriors did a double-take with surprise and then elation, surging forward to meet her. “Mom!”

            The four of them met in a tangle of bodies and hugs. Hunter wept in silent relief, arms wrapped around his mother and face buried in her shoulder. He was thankful for the water soaking them all that would hide the evidence of his breakdown. Behind them, Lucifer just dejectedly stood there in shock, staring at the water and his missed opportunity.

            Angel was regarding the new angel, Uriel, in confusion. The man did not look pleased to be there either.

            Uriel huffed with impatience. “It would seem Anna's insistent _pestering_ finally yielded results. The Council finally decided to offer _assistance_ ,” he spat the work like venom, “to her cursed incompetent offspring. Zachariah sent me.”

            Blue eyes narrowed, a thin vein of contempt to Angel’s voice as he snapped, “To which I am sure you acted with utmost haste. Your lack of concern for their well-being is staggering, Uriel. You are certainly of no help _now_.”

            Sliding his hands into the pockets of his suit, the other man shrugged. “Michael could easily appoint a new Ordained, or even a new bloodline. They are easily replaced.”

            Gaze shifting to the reunited family members, to where Winter Rose was cupping her eldest child’s face in her hands and looking proud, Angel smiled. “You are wrong, brother. Michael will find none more worthy than these.”

            More car doors slammed, feet pounding pavement before the sounds of dozens of more weapons being readied and aimed at Lucifer- and the group of warriors standing in front of him- filled the air. They had all completely forgotten about the Men of Letters presence on the bridge.

            “Stand aside,” someone in a suit ordered.

            Half a second later, Falcon moved and was standing in a defensive posture, armed with only a single knife. The other three immediately followed lead, Night Fox drawing her bow, while Hunter’s sword appeared in hand, and Winter Rose called forth her massive bladed halberd from the ether.

            All four of them stood poised to shield and protect Lucifer.

            “Hunter?” their mother asked in a low, but pleasant tone, grip flexing on the staff of her weapon as the eyes behind her white mask surveyed all the weapons trained on them.

            The Ordained were durable. Not bulletproof.

            “Don’t look at me,” he scoffed. “This is all Falcon. Lucifer _wants_ to die.”

            “Hold your fire,” an old voice called out.

            They watched as an aged man, standing straight and proud, despite his need for a cane, stepped through the soldiers to stand at the front line. He rested his hands atop the gold handle of his cane, one over the other. A crested ring gleamed on his hand, the symbol of the Men of Letters.

            Director Henry Winchester stared at them, looking angry and disappointed by the display before them.

            He sighed. “You are to stand down,” he said, sounding weary as though they had failed to understand a simple training exercise.

            Hunter knew that tone and half expected to hear “Again!”, and for the simulation to start all over so he could correct whatever it was that he’d done wrong.

            It took conscious effort to not simply obey, and he could sense his siblings forcing themselves to hold their ground against years of training that told them to do otherwise. Obeying was instinct after so many years. The muscles in their grandfather’s jaw flexed and tensed.

            “Stand. Down,” the head of the Men of Letters told them again.

            “We don’t just kill people,” Falcon reminded him angrily. “That’s what keeps us from becoming one of the monsters we hunt!  
            In a flash of light, both Angel and Uriel appeared between the two parties, their wings flared in a contrast of black and white. It nearly had Hunter scrambling back and away at the warning.

            “Enough!” called Angel, blue eyes traveling over the soldiers poised behind barricades with their weapons now trained on him. “We thank you for your assistance, but this is now officially Heaven’s jurisdiction.”

            With a considering nod, Director Winchester stepped forward. “If I may-“

            “You may not,” snapped Uriel, his wings vanishing as he folded them back in.

            Hunter had a moment to wonder why Angel never hid his wings, until he remembered they were part of his disguise.

            The angel in question’s tone was more diplomatic as he spoke. “We will return to Heaven, where Lucifer’s judgment and punishment will be seen to by the highest order. Unless you feel yourself more suited to the task- with a prison that will hold him?” Their gazes locked for several long beats. The older man said nothing. Inclining his head, Angel said, “I didn’t think so.” He turned to Uriel. “Michael and the other higher angels need to be warned of our arrival.”

            His sibling nodded. “I will see to it.” There was a whisper of wings and he paused, frowning at the other man. “By the way, brother…” His gaze took Angel in from head-to-toe and back, lips pulling back in a sneer. “You look ridiculous. I suggest you remember yourself, and that you are not one of these mud-monkeys you protect so desperately.”

            He was gone in a blink.

            Hunter watched as Angel sighed, shoulders sagging as his eyes fell to the painted cement beneath his feet for a moment.

            Beyond him, Henry was giving orders that weapons be put away and cleanup begin, both of the area and anything that could end up in the news. Anything that wasn’t about a vehicular accident was to be buried.

            More angels appeared suddenly, recognizable by the similarly pristine suits they all wore. Hunter wondered if the Men of Letters recognized the similarities between their two groups. The angels all had impeccable appearances and expressionless faces.

            It was then that Hunter saw how odd Angel looked by comparison: masked, rumpled, and tired. There were still lines and shadows beneath his eyes under his mask.

            Uriel was right. Compared to the other angels, none of whom had their wings visible or even a hair out of place, Angel did look ridiculous.

            He looked human.

            The masked angel turned to Lucifer and spoke softly. “Come, brother. You’ve been away from home for far too long.”

            As the blond stepped forward, Angel took him by the elbow. Meeting Hunter’s eyes, he inclined his head and they disappeared.

            Their departure allowed a scowling, furious looking Director Winchester to hobble forward, grip tight on his cane as he shooed away his assistant and regarded the masked members of his deceased son’s family.

            “All of you are out of line and should be written up for misconduct and insubordination. Do you-“

            His words fell off as the pointed tip of Winter Rose’s massive blade was suddenly under his chin, eyes narrowed and brow raised. Her children all watched stiffly as their mother and grandfather’s professional personas faced off.

            “You forget yourself, Henry,” she said, voice carefully low so that no one outside of them heard.  Winter Rose shifted the grip on her blade slightly. “I may have married and even buried your son, but I do not answer to you. We are not a part of the Men of Letters. This is not a partnership or alliance. The Letters exist to _support_ the Ordained, but do not control us. As you have just been reminded: we are agents of Heaven.” Lowering her weapon, she straightened to full height. “You would do well to remember that, Director.”

            Swallowing, Hunter leaned in closer to his siblings whispering, “Dude. Thanksgiving and Christmas just got _real_ awkward.”

            They both nodded seriously.

            Huffing a breath, their mother looked at the agents piling into vans and SUV’s. She looked at her kids. “Well. Now that that’s over, I say this calls for cocoa and one _very_ good explanation.” All three of them winced and she softened, a smile touching her lips. “The lecture can wait, though. I’m glad you’re all okay. Hunter? Your new uniform suits you.” She glanced at the older man now watching his subordinates casting a spell to remove the markings and bodies from the scene. “Director Winchester, seeing as my transport is currently occupied, I will need a ride home.” She glanced back to her children as they walked toward the vehicles, pointing her white gloved hand at them. “I expect you to come home this weekend. I’ll make pancakes.”

            The director introduced Winter Rose to Garth, who grinned and enthusiastically shook her hand before motioning her toward his car, hobbling on his bright pink cane that stood out like a beacon among all the black.

            It was Night Fox that hugged Hunter first, throwing her arms around him and crying in relief.

            “You didn’t have to die,” she sobbed.

            Falcon wrapped his long arms around both of them. “Let’s never do this again, okay?”

            Hunter gave a wet laugh, relief making his eyes sting with tears again. Nodding, he realized they were all shaking, and not from their wet clothes.

            “Just regular monsters and college life on the Hell gate campus, I promise.”  


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

 

            Over the next week, they filled out paperwork and appeared at the Men of Letters headquarters to give an account of events before the board. The members of the board disapproved of the battle having been so out in the open and requiring so much clean up. Apparently, dozens of video files had to be confiscated, memories wiped, and bodies had to be disposed of in order to cover-up what had happened on the bridge. Trying to stop the apocalypse has that effect though, and they weren’t reprimanded or punished in any way, instead, Garth got a raise. He was gonna earn every penny of it.

            Sam asked out Sarah for their first official date, and as instructed, all three siblings went home for the weekend. Mary met them at the door and hugged each of them in turn, before making pancakes- the kind with chocolate chips- just like she’d promised.

            The lecture they’d been dreading never came, though they did eventually take turns telling their mother everything that had happened before she and Uriel showed up on the bridge. By the time they finished telling her, they got the feeling Heaven was in for a piece of Mary Winchester’s mind.  Later that night, she tossed a quilt over the three of them where they’d fallen asleep together not even halfway through the movie they’d been watching.

 

 

Back on campus, Dean tried to force himself back to normal, to be the same as he’d been when they first arrived. He couldn’t. The past months events had already tarnished his dream at the edges as a constant reminder. The weeks of fear and stress and nightmares had left their toll. He felt older and on the run from himself. He tried to shut his brain up and calm his anxiety with work outs and jogging, but that didn’t help either. It didn’t help him sleep, didn’t calm his nerves, and didn’t clear his head. It didn't put an end to the nights where he woke up screaming, with Sam talking to him in soft soothing tones like he were a cornered wild animal. Sam kept a safe distance away from Dean on these nights, called out to him from the other side of the room. The distance didn't always work. Once, there'd been a knife embedded in the wall dangerously close to his little brother's head, and they both just stared in horror at the other, Sam not daring to breathe, and Dean unable to catch his breath.

            Sam and Charlie were trying to get caught up on the sleep they’d lost, and he let them this morning. He'd woken up in a cold sweat as Hunter, jerking to a sitting position as he shoved his sword through empty air, dark dreams bleeding away and vanishing from memory as reality took over. Then, he'd sat shaking and trying to calm his breathing and the too fast beat of his heart. He'd clutched his hands his his duvet and forced himself not to think about what would have happened had Sam tried to wake him from his nightmare again. The image still seared itself into his mind unbidden. 

            He'd changed back to his normal form and thrown on his jogging clothes, to try and outrun his nightmares. Running wasn't helping Dean, hadn't been helping, but he kept trying, kept reminding himself that time cured all, that or either taught you how to compartmentalize better. He couldn’t even concentrate on his workout, the steady rhythm of his feet hitting the pavement as it passed by underneath him. The blond's mind was a busy whirlwind of thoughts and emotions he couldn't put names to, and instead, he ended up sitting on a bench, elbows on his knees as he watched the sunrise. 

            He didn’t react when the trench coat clad figure gently placed a cup of coffee beside Dean, before moving to carefully sit on the other end of the bench.

            He almost seemed naked without the mask and wings.

            “Finally decided to face me?” Dean questioned.

            Rubbing his palms together, Cas didn’t look at him. “It’s harder than you can imagine.”

            “To stop lying to me?” he challenged, looking over at the angel who’d been living a double-life as much as Dean had.

            The other man sighed and shook his head. “It was never supposed to be this complicated. We don’t normally have contact with out wards. I just wanted to be… nearby. To be your friend; for you to actually see me for once, and not through me.” He shook his head. “You have no idea how… _startling_ it was to see you look at me or to hear you speak and know it was because you actually _saw_ me. I kept expecting my siblings to show up and force me back to Heaven, but weeks passed and they never even made an appearance. When the demon attacked that woman, I know I had no choice but to join you in the field- if only for a time. I healed her-“

            The blond scoffed, gaze casting away. “Well that explains it. I’d forgotten about that by the time you had to do the same thing for me. It really was a miracle that saved her.”

            “Dean, I care much for my father’s creations. I healed her and changed my appearance to one more suited to your line of work that you would not immediately recognize as me.” He ran a hand over his hair. “Things grew increasingly complicated, and though I searched Heaven and Earth, I could find no answers and no way to save you.”

            The blond still wouldn’t look at him, instead keeping his gaze focused on the middle distance as he said, “I’ve been wondering about that myself. Seems everything we did was for nothing. The stress, for one, if closing the gate was as simple as tossing Abaddon in it. Why did Joan sacrifice herself if there was an alternate method?”

            Castiel made a noise that made Dean glance at him, noting the roiling anger in the other man just beneath the surface, the way his muscle in his jaw twitched. “That would be Zachariah’s doing. He was Joan’s guardian, and a poor one at that. He is vile and would be better suited as a minion of Hell than as a servant of Heaven.”

            “What did he do?”

            “He told Joan exactly what we believed was the answer: that if she were to throw herself into the portal, the Hell gate would close. He did not tell her _anybody_ falling in would have the same effect. When I realized Lucifer sought to throw himself into the portal, the idea we’d been acting under misconception occurred to me. I threw in Abaddon on the mere chance it might be enough to trigger the seal reclosing. I did not know if it would actually work, I just remembered how Zachariah twists his words to his benefit and mood. He was resentful of having a human ward and sought to be free of her as soon as possible.”

            “So she died because of him?”

            “She died saving the planet. His words were truthful, if misleading, a loophole that spared him from anything more than a slap on the wrist for his actions.” He gave a derisive snort. "Now, as the first angel assigned an Ordained, he also has a guaranteed seat on the Council, and was Anna's greatest adversary trying to convince them to act on humanity's behalf. Zachariah may not be the Council Head, but he very much controls many of the angels on it. I think were it not for the anonymity of the votes, many would not have gone against him."

            Dean snorted. “So all of this was for nothing? Our being here didn’t actually matter.”

            Cas looked at him sharply, alarmed. “It wasn’t for nothing. You did good here, Dean. You saved lives. You’ve stepped further into your role as the Ordained. You are a better warrior than you were then. Never could any of us have guessed Lucifer was free and wished to throw _himself_ into the portal, ultimately killing himself. No angel has been severed from the host like he has, has  _wished_ for death before.”

            Because Lucifer was somehow an easier subject to talk about, and because he would have to provide answers eventually, Dean asked, “So what did Heaven do with him?”

            Beside him, Castiel cleared his throat uncomfortably and interlaced his fingers. “That is part of the reason I came to see you.” There was a pause and Dean glanced at him just as the angel turned to look at him. “Heaven has granted Lucifer release.”

            The blond accidentally knocked the coffee off the bench. “ _What_?”

            “He is on strict probation and under constant watch,” Cas assured him quickly, showing both his hands, palms directed at Dean. He spoke carefully as he continued, “But he actively tried to protect a single human and even his allies, and Heaven felt this said a great deal toward his motivations and rehabilitation, despite his arguments to the contrary. Completely cut off from Heaven and left to wander the earth with a void that the Host once filled was worse punishment than the Cage. Even in the Cage, he would not have been severed and set adrift, a lesser angel would have been killed on the spot from such a- an _injury_.

            Angels _need_ that connection, along with purpose more than humans need air to survive. Lucifer lost both and was forced to endure it until a time came he could end his own suffering. He should not have been capable of being in a frame of mind to protect something or someone, yet he chose to. Lucifer was unable to even properly explain it; I believe at the time he did not really understand it himself. Heaven made him an offer, and seemingly even to Lucifer’s surprise, he accepted the unprecedented assignment.”

            Green eyes studied him, wary and doubtful. “What’s the assignment?”

            The pained and weary smile Cas gave him was not reassuring.

 

\--

 

            Castiel didn't stay long after, said he still had things to do in Heaven, was not even present as Dean, Sam, and Charlie all crowded in the doorway of Cas’ room, what had once been a single and was now magically a double. Cas’ side was decorated the same as ever, simple, but with the subtle personalization that marked it as his. The comic books Charlie had loaned him, the novel from Sam. The Captain America shirt was neatly folded on the foot of the bed, and made Dean remember Charlie had already bought Cas the Pop figure to give to him from Christmas. How had so much time passed that it was nearing Thanksgiving and Christmas already? Halloween passed without his notice, which means they missed their annual classic movie monster marathon night. He frowned, wondering if, now that everything was over, if they and Cas were still friends, or was that over now? It couldn't be, right? Cas- Angel cared about them, right?

            When Sam made a strangled sound, Dean tore his gaze away from Cas' bed and let it drift to the other side of the room, magically extended and furnished to house another person. Seated on the other bed, back against the wall and peering at them over a book… was Lucifer. The angel was sitting with one leg folded and the other drawn up to prop a sketch book against, pencil held poised in his left hand.

            “What am _I_ being punished for?” demanded Sam, glaring when the blond gave him a suggestive smirk and wink.

            “You saved my life, Sam,” he reminded him in a velvet tone. “I’m yours forever now. A Guardian archangel.” His smile grew wider. "I told you we had a connection. You are mine to protect and serve."

            Dean thought Sam might have an aneurysm at that, what with the way his whole face went red with in embarrassment and an angry growl of frustration escaped him, that died off in a whimper. With a sigh and shake of his head, Dean backed away from the room. Not even trying to stifle her snorts and laughter, Charlie followed, giggling. Not having moved, Lucifer was still smiling when Sam jerked the door shut behind them with a scowl.

\--

            It really did almost seem as though Sam were being punished for his kindness, what with being granted an angel as his protector that used every opportunity he could to insert himself into Sam’s personal life as much as on the field.

            As the brunette walked Sarah toward her next class, waving his not-quite-girlfriend off as they had to go in two separate directions, Sam visibly cringed as the blond that had been trailing after them waved her off as well.

            “Bye, Sarah.”

            Sam whirled on him. “Would you stop that? Go away! _Why_ are you doing this?” he demanded, not even waiting for a response before shoving past the angel.

            Smirking, Lucifer pivoted and followed after him, hands in his pockets. “I’m possessive and jealous. It’s a personality quirk,” he said, adjusting the strap of his leather messenger bag. He still wasn’t quite use to having to carry one and would often give it odd looks like he didn’t understand it or where it suddenly came from.

            “Personality _flaw_ ,” Sam corrected through grit teeth. “Knock it off or I will petition to have Heaven reassign you.”

            The archangel winked, bumping their shoulders together as they walked. “Relax, Sam. Just having a bit of fun. I’ll help you study later to make up for it. Oh!” His face brightened and he began digging in his bag, producing his sketchbook to hand over to the Winchester. “And, I drew you something as a present. See? Don't be angry.”

            "Guys! Wait!" called a voice.

            They looked to see Charlie and Gilda kiss goodbye and separate, her girlfriend waving in greeting before she entered a building to go to her next class and disappeared from sight, while Charlie hurriedly made her way toward them. It wasn’t until Lucifer was distracted by Charlie running to catch up with them that Sam allowed himself an amused smile, flipping to the first page of the book just as his sister reached them.

            “What are we looking at?” she asked, leaning in to see. “Oh cool! She’s pretty.”

            “Yeah that-“ Sam faltered, eyes taking in the long brown hair and black robes, the ornate staff the woman was wielding like a weapon as long ribbons of script circled in the air around her. She had a series of knives in the utility belt on her hips. His head slowly turned to regard the angel smiling fondly at the artwork. “Lucifer, is this me as the Ordained?” he questioned flatly.

            The blond waved him off, taking the book back and slipping it back into his bag. “I have no way of knowing what you would actually look like if you transformed. This was just a general musing of what you _might_ look like.”

            Sam forced his expression into a scowl.

            “You realize I only become the Ordained if my brother _dies_ , don’t you?”

            Eyes gleaming with mischief, Lucifer held up a finger. “Not true. It is possible for you to be activated as an Ordained so that there are two- or even _three_ active Ordained,” he told them, giving Charlie a significant look. “You’re siblings, regardless of how, so the avenue is open to you should you choose it." His blue eyes lifted to meet Sam's. "There needs be _at least_ one Ordained to every generation of the bloodline, not that that there can _only_ be one.”

            The redhead latched onto the blond’s arm in excitement. “Are you _serious_?”

            “Would I lie?” he questioned, smirking as the two of them left a gob smacked Sam standing stunned silent on the sidewalk.

            Then a grin stretched across his face. He didn’t need Cas’ ability to see how Lucifer’s grace was apparently no longer dim and tarnished, but burning hot once again. Sam could tell from the way a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth that Lucifer’s mask of nonchalant good humor wasn’t entirely an act.

            When he caught sight of his brother, the brunette’s smile faded. Dean was on his way to his own class, alone. Sam knew through Lucifer that Cas had had his own reports to fill out and hearings to attend in regards to what had happened, but he was also avoiding facing Dean, fearing the blond’s reaction to his deception. Leaving both of them miserable and desperately missing their best friend. Watching until his brother was out of sight, Sam wondered how long it would take for one of them to finally break and go hunt down the other to apologize, or if they ever would. They had to, didn't they? How was Angel going to help them on the field if Cas avoided them in the hallways? Angel wouldn't abandon them as well, would he?

            Sam didn't think Dean would be able to handle losing both his angel and his friend, not on top of everything else. Dean was still struggling in the aftermath of all that had happened, with his own mortality and very near brushes with death. He had nightmares too often and the shadows under his eyes hadn't faded since their victory. He was quieter, and would often end up staring off at nothing, gaze unfocused. While he might not have ever said it, Sam thought their missing friend weighed on Dean's mind as much as the events they'd barely survived. It made him worry what they breaking point for Dean would be; of how dangerously close it might be if something didn't change.

\--

 

            It took three weeks before Dean finally broke and decided to track Cas down. Not that it was hard. Outside of class time, there were few places a person might actually find Castiel.

            He found him in the culinary wing, diligently at work rolling out a pie crust. The blond glanced at the other empty cooking stations, then to the angel who already had two pies cooling on the rack. He thought about that for a minute, the idea of Castiel baking, of hands that he knew were so strong and had the power to smite with a touch, that could throw monsters and demons like rag dolls, those same hands carefully mixing flour and preparing the crusts to make pastries. Sliding his gaze to the angel that had not yet noticed him, Dean considered him with a frown. 

            Cas wasn't just another student on campus; he wasn't even human. He was a warrior of Heaven, an angel who had fought beside Hunter, put his life on the line, and who Dean owed his very life to. Now that he knew what to look for, Dean could see the similarities between Cas and Angel, though they held themselves vastly different. Here, like this, with flour on his hands and an apron tied around his waist, it was hard to believe he was the same masked angel in a trench coat.

            "Why culinary school?" Dean heard himself asking, genuinely curious.

            The other man froze, rolling pin halfway across his crust. Blue eyes jerked up, wide with surprise and even fear, before Dean watched the mask over his emotions slip into place, expression becoming more polite and withdrawn, blue eyes looking anywhere but at Dean. The blond stepped further into the room, sliding his hands into his pockets.

            "Hey," he greeted, 

            “Hello.” He began rolling again as the blond moved further into the room. Dean could see smudges of flour on his apron and cheek. The sight of it was all Cas. “I was not expecting you.”

            "Why culinary school?"

            "Angels don't eat," stated Cas. "In Heaven, angels don't eat, they- _we_ don't need to. The ability to prepare, consume, and enjoy food is a rare gift most of my siblings have never experienced." A fond smile curled the corners of his mouth and he turned his attention back to his task, eyes focused as his hands began to work to rolling pin again. "Most angels have a penchant for food, once they've had a taste of it. My sister Anna likes cakes and wines. Gabriel loves candy. I'd only heard stories about food before I came here, and wanted to learn everything about it, to try everything."

            Trailing his fingers over the edge of the stainless steel station as he moved about, Dean continued to look around, studying the room.

            “You’ve been avoiding me for weeks- on top of all the weeks you avoided me before we stopped your brother. I haven’t even seen _Angel_ or sensed him.” He looked pointedly at the other man, rounding the corner to inspect the cooling pies. “I took that to mean I was gonna have to chase your heels if we were ever going to talk.” Cas stilled, gaze focused on his hands, swallowing thickly to control the warring hurt and guilt from showing on his face. Dean motioned to the pies with a frown. “What are these? Class work? I’d have thought you on something a little more advanced.”

            “They’re for you,” admitted Castiel softly. Dean’s gaze snapped in his direction. “You once said-“ He cut himself off and tried again, “They were meant as an apology since I know how much you like them. I wanted to say I was sorry for my deceit and deception, for hurting you in ways I never-“

            “Cas.”

            The word was said softly, commandingly, and from much closer than Castiel expected, so that when he turned to look at the source… Dean was suddenly right there, green eyes studying Cas’ features and the two of them in each other’s personal space in a way that had both their hearts hammering in their chests. The eyes studying Cas’ face fell to his mouth then, fell and waited.

            Castiel kissed Dean this time, moving across the little bit of space to press their mouths together, one hand coming up to grip the fabric of Dean’s outer shirt as their lips moved in a slow languorous slide against each other, one of Dean's hands sliding into dark strands of hair, while his other hand settled at Cas' hip, drawing him closer.

            Eventually the kiss ended, Cas pulling away with his head lowered and face screw up in pain.

            “Dean, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I never meant- and I was so scared you’d die- I’m so sorry.”

            The blond slid his hand up, cupping the side of the other man’s face as he brushed his thumb over the skin.

            “Apology accepted, Cas,” Dean huffed with a small laugh. The angel looked at him. Dean shrugged. “I _knew_ you were sorry. I came to let you know we were okay. To tell you to stop avoiding me,” He assured, voice warm and soft. Blue eyes searched his face and Dean gave a one-sided shrug. “I need and want my friend back if nothing else, plus Hunter needs Angel. Okay?”

            Swallowing, Cas nodded rapidly, before grinning. Dean leaned in and kissed him again, just a soft, gentle touch of lips like that very first time.

            Then, “Hey, Cas?”

            “Hm?”

            “Will you go out with me?”

            The shorter of the two blinked in surprise. Dean smirked and flushed, gaze dropping.

            “I’m not sure how it works with angels, and God knows my life is complicated with divine Ordained duty, plus all around co-dependent siblings, but you know, we could aim for somewhat normal, at least. Dinner and a movie, maybe dessert.” Their gazes met and a slow grin stretched across Dean’s features. “Then we break out our costumes and go kill whatever’s been leaving tracks by the runner’s path through the woods. Whaddya say?”

            A matching grin stretched across the angel’s face. “I’d love to.”

 END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I am going to do a rewrite of this fic!** Since it was written as part of a challenge and rather time crunched, I am going to expand upon it, adding scenes and fixing things. **If you enjoyed this version** , please let me know, and also save a copy of the text or audio versions titling them 'Ordained 1.0' or something. Thank you again to everyone who has created fanart for this fic. They're amazing.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Ordained [podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2758208) by [Tenoko1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tenoko1/pseuds/Tenoko1)




End file.
